


Redo That Day

by DoesItWeighMoreThanADuck



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, POV First Person, References to Depression, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24391714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoesItWeighMoreThanADuck/pseuds/DoesItWeighMoreThanADuck
Summary: Five years after the tragedy, Friar Laurence approaches Benvolio with a new concoction that he says will lend an escape from the life he's living. But that ends up not meaning what it sounded like, and suddenly Benvolio finds himself given a second chance. Can he prevent the tragedy from ever taking place--and if he does so, where can he go from there? (Note: I originally published this on Fanfiction.net in the summer of 2017)
Relationships: Juliet Capulet/Romeo Montague, Mercutio/Benvolio Montague
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	1. Regrets

They said that they would erect a golden statue. And they did. Not that a statue is any good when compared to the people who no longer live. And in a way, standing before that dazzling monument makes the loss of my cousin even worse. There he is, standing immortalized in gold, next to his true love. A love I had no clue was his until it was too late.

Six people. I didn’t know them all, of course. But to lose my cousin’s friend—who was my friend too, or maybe more, I don't know; it's too late now anyway—one day and have my cousin exiled, then my aunt die of grief, and then to find that my cousin was gone too—along with a lady from the house that was supposed to be the enemy—it was too much to comprehend. In the span of a week my life changed. I am no longer the cheerful youth I used to be. If I could go back and do it over again, I’d refrain from telling Romeo to get over himself and find some other girl. For it was because of the girl he found that he’s dead, and she is too. A lot of good my advice did him.

Maybe if it hadn’t been for that very first death, then none of the others would have followed. It first occurred to me while the prince was interrogating me, as he had interrogated all who were involved in some way. He found me innocent; lacking a hand in the tragedy. Maybe I was, but that doesn’t prevent me from feeling guilty. He still doesn’t know exactly how that fight on the streets of Verona really started, and I don’t think he ever needs to know. All I know is that if it weren’t for the casualties of that fight, everything would be so much better now. In fact, now I’m certain that the first death was the event that started the chain reaction and lead to five more like it. Oh, had it not been for that dear fool’s recklessness, despite my warnings…

It’s been five years since the tragic tale of the star-crossed lovers did unfurl. Now our houses are living in peace. But is it worth it? Of course not! We’ve all lost so many. There was a deep sadness in the prince’s eyes as he interrogated me, for even he had lost two family members—one of whom was also my friend. If I could change it all back, I would in a heartbeat.

What if I could?

As I stand before the statue now, rage burning in my chest because if it weren’t for that Capulet girl then none of this would have happened, a man approaches me. He’s wearing a friar’s robes and I recognize him as Laurence, the man who married Romeo and Juliet.

I scuff my sandals in the dirt awkwardly as he comes to a stop beside me. I stare at the dirt. I don’t know this man—I was never really the type to consult with friars—but my cousin did, and now is he expecting me to talk to him; to cry into his arms because I’m hurting so badly? I hope not, because again, I don’t know him, and I don’t really care to talk about the most woeful tale that everyone else in Verona hasn’t been able to shut up about for the past five years.

Friar Laurence says nothing. But I can feel him staring at me, and it makes the back of my neck prickle. I can’t stand the feeling of him staring at me—no doubt with pity—so I finally mutter a greeting to him. “Good morning, Friar.”

“Do you think this morning is a good one?” he replies, the warmth in his baggy old eyes making me uncomfortable. How can he look so at peace? “If so, I’m glad; you have lived in a state of sadness for long enough.”

“I just said good morning,” I grumble. “Don’t overanalyze it.”

The truth is, I’m still living in that state of sadness. Call me soft for holding bitterly on for five years, but I just can’t let go of the senseless tragedy of it all. Why couldn’t I have been one of the dead? Nobody would miss me that much, surely. Maybe it would be better if I were to die tomorrow, or even today. A dagger seems a great alternative to however many more years of sadness and regret I may have ahead of me.

Friar Laurence claps me on the back. “I know you’ve heard this before, Benvolio, but I really do think you’ve held on too long to the past. There was never anything you could have done for your cousin.”

He’s right; I have heard it before, too many times. Romeo made his own decisions. He didn’t have to drink the poison. He was just a foolish fifteen-year-old boy who thought he was in love. He’d be nearly twenty now, if he were still alive, as I am now. But it feels like I should be as old as Laurence here. Now I really understand what Romeo meant when he said that sad hours passed slowly.

But I don’t tell him any of this. I can’t tell any of it to anyone. They’d just call me too emotional, or say that I’m overthinking it. _There’s nothing I could have done_ , they’d all say, as they’ve said a thousand times already. _It’s not your fault_. Well, maybe it wasn’t my fault, but I still feel that I should have been able to do something to prevent it.

“You’re right, Holy Father,” I say, forcing a smile. “I need to move on.”

“Please, boy, just ‘Laurence’,” he sighs. “You know I stripped myself of my title long ago.”

That’s right—I forgot that he isn’t a friar anymore. In fact, now that I think about it, it’s been nearly five years since I’ve even seen him, apart from that time I went up to Mantua to visit some relatives. I rub my temples; there’s really something wrong with me if I can just forget something so obvious.

“That’s right; you haven’t been living in Verona for a while, have you?” I groan, embarrassed at my utter failure to remember such a detail. “Er, how have you been?”

Laurence chuckles. “I was wondering when you were going to remember that. I’m worried about you, Benvolio,” he adds more seriously. “I saw some signs of it before I exiled myself, but I never suspected your grief would drag on this long. You need some help.”

“Why did you leave again?” I ask, pointedly ignoring his concern. I don’t need any help. “Didn’t the prince decide you were innocent?”

“He did,” Laurence sighs, “but I know better. Simply being a servant of God should not have excused the role I played. There were so many things I could have done differently.”

To my surprise, he sits down on a boulder and goes into a long and rambling tangent, explaining all the things he could have done to prevent the deaths of Romeo and Juliet—never marrying them in the first place, finding some other plan for Juliet to escape marrying Paris, delivering Romeo’s letter himself, or at least giving the task to a Friar other than John—not that he could have known about the quarantine—getting to the tomb a bit faster… his list goes on and on. I don’t understand how he can feel so responsible and yet go on with his life, while I, who everybody tells me couldn’t have done anything, am mentally stuck five years in the past, replaying the same scenarios inside my head and wondering if there was any way I could have stopped the tragedy.

Once he has finally finished his spiel, he stands up as though about to leave.

“Wait,” I tell him. “I have another question for you.” He stops, raising his eyebrows as if to say, _“go on…”_ I clear my throat and ask, “I was just wondering, sir… what brings you back here to Verona?”

“I was hoping you’d ask that.” Laurence has a faint twinkle in his eye. He reaches into his robe pocket and brings out a tiny pouch. Leaves poke out from the top. “There is something I have been working on in my self-imposed exile. I never believed I could do it, but I’m beginning to think I may have done it at last.”

“What is it?” It just looks like a sack of plants to me. “Some kind of medicinal herbs?”

“Could any herb compare to the capabilities of this concoction?” he murmurs, drawing his finger across the sharp edge of a mint leaf. “And if I am not mistaken, the very last ingredient lies right here in Verona: somebody willing to test this creation.”

I find myself reaching out for the herb pouch before I stop myself and ask myself what I’m thinking. “Test it how?” I ask, as though there are multiple ways to test a potion.

“I am old, and I know not what effects this would have on me,” Laurence explains. “I require someone young to drink it. Are you up for that task?”

I gulp. _It’s probably some horrible new poison_. The thought sneaks into my head and I shudder. I won’t be turning that into a drink, no matter what he says! _I should drink it_. I half-expected that thought, but I push it to the back of my mind, in the dark recesses where I keep all the things I never say and have convinced myself to forget I ever thought or felt. If it is poisonous—which surely it is, because what else could it be?—then why would I drink it? Unless, of course, I wanted to die…

A long shiver passes down through my spine. Do I want to die? I mean, really want to die? The thought seems almost appealing right now, but surely there must be something still here in Verona that I have to live for. But what?

My parents? Sure, but would they really miss me that much? Friends? Romeo and Mercutio were my best friends, and I don’t have them anymore. I haven’t for five years…

My life?

How good a life can it be when I always hurt so much, and when I never really want to get up in the mornings? How much can such an empty life be worth?

“What will this concoction do exactly, Friar—sorry, ex-friar?”

“It will lend you the ability to do what I suspect you have been dreaming of for these past five years,” he promises me. “It shall offer you an escape from this wretched state that you have been trapped in, and if successful, the life you lead now shall cease to exist altogether.”

That sounds like a poison, all right. I feel insane to be doing this, but I reach out and take the herb pouch and draw it open. Inside, there are plants of every sort all in a jumbled mess. In places where they’ve been blended into a pulp, a faint glow seems to be emanating from the unholy mixture.

“I’ll test this new drug of yours,” I murmur.

Laurence smiles. “You won’t regret this, Benvolio. It shall give you what you’ve been seeking.” He pats my hands, which I wonder if he notices are trembling. “Soak the leaves in water and their power will be spread throughout,” he continues. “I recommend that you don some measure of disguise before consumption.”

I don’t understand why I’d need to do that. Maybe it’s not poison, then? But what else could it be? I nod, and stare down, transfixed, at the herb pouch. I must spend longer staring at it than I realized, because when I look up again Laurence has left.

“It shall give me what I’ve been seeking,” I whisper, and suddenly I realize that at least that much is true. I wipe away tears that I didn’t know were falling. “I will consume these cursed contents tonight.”

For whatever effect they might have, I will gladly welcome it.


	2. Reversal

The herbs sit in the water, whatever deathly effects they may bring seeping into the once clear liquid, which quickly turns a deep green colour. Now all I have left to do is wait.

My parents are shuffling about inside, making dinner. What they don’t know is that I’m not going to be there to eat it.

I play out the scenario inside my head once again. They’ll step out on the porch where I’m sitting now and call me in for dinner. They won’t see me, so they’ll begin to look around. Then they’ll find my body—dead—in the flowerbeds, an empty bottle clutched in my hand. I’ll be put to rest in the Montague family tomb, and…

Should I really do this?

Isn’t there anything here for me to live for?

I twirl a lock of my dark, curly hair. It’s grown out quite a bit in the past five years. Oddly enough, I still don’t have any facial hair—just a bit of stubble. I guess some people just can’t grow beards. Not that I’d want a beard, necessarily. It’s such a stupid association, I know, but somehow the way they cover part of one’s face always reminds me of masks. And I can’t stand masks anymore. There were so many of them at that party—that lively event where everything began to go wrong.

There was one thing about that party that I wouldn't give up for anything, though. A slow, forbidden dance; those puns that I'd cringe at if they came from anyone's mouth but his; that hand in mine that will never be there again… But then the last song played and then that song ended and then we were standing out in the cold, both drunk and wondering where Romeo had run off to. As it turned out, he was busy wooing that Capulet girl. A years-old bitterness rises in me every time I think about him betraying us like that.

The mixture of herbs has fully blended into the water now. I gently lift the bottle and remove the clump of drained leaves. I twist on the lid—only to take it off again a few moments later—but first I want to really savour this moment. Wait, no, savour isn’t the right word. Is it? I’m only doing this because I have no choice, right?

Well, actually… I do have a choice. I have the very real, very simple choice to not drink this potion, which is probably poison, and to simply go on living. And do I want to make that choice? I think very long and very hard about it as I sit on the porch steps and I decide, with a sinking feeling, that I want to carry through with the choice I made that morning.

“Two more minutes until our dinner is prepared,” my father calls from inside. “You’ll have to come in soon, Benvolio.”

Guilt flares in my chest; before those two minutes pass I’ll be dead.

What if this concoction isn’t even poison at all? The thought has occurred to me several times throughout the day, and each time I’ve welcomed it. If it’s not poison, then I’ll live on, perhaps healthier if it’s a tonic of some sort. But judging by a few of the ingredients, I am almost positive that it would kill me if I drink it. Why else could it be shimmering and swirling around like that?

Well, if I’m really going to do this, I’ve got to be quick about it. I pick up the bottle and raise it to my lips. Then I remember that the lid is still on and I unscrew it, my hands trembling as I hold the bottle. A bit of the dark green liquid spills out of the top. Am I really going to do this?

Yes.

I lift the bottle to my lips and drink the liquid. It doesn’t taste like poison. In fact, it doesn’t really taste like… anything. But as soon as it touches my tongue, my mouth is filled with an overwhelming tang. Then a burst of sweetness follows, and then… every taste imaginable passes over my tongue, and I move it around inside my mouth and over my lips and then I swallow the first sip of the liquid. If it is poison, there’s no turning back now. It feels like nothingness sliding down my throat.

Some people are walking by in the streets, enjoying the summer evening. They aren’t bothering to stay close to the walls, because they know no fights will be started tonight. There are Montagues and Capulets walking side by side, some of them even holding hands… all because of my cousin and his girlfriend. But I still don’t believe it was worth it.

I take another sip, bigger this time, of the maybe-poison. This time the entire world seems to spin and warp around me and I get immensely dizzy. I clutch my head. Burning tears spring up in my eyes and I squeeze them shut. I can feel my head pounding and feel it in my hands, down my arms, right through to my heart. This maddening sensation subsides after a moment or two, and I open my eyes.

The people walking by outside my house are now entirely different people. And I don’t even mean that some people have come and gone; people who were leaning up against a wall talking to a friend are now vanished, and others have sprung up out of nowhere. I blink; I must be hallucinating! The people change again, this time right before my eyes; I rub my eyes but they keep on changing. The poison must be working, then, to be making me imagine such strange sights! I drink the last few drops and toss the bottle aside, preparing for death to come and claim me. The bottle shatters at my feet but the shards don’t fly in every direction, with some of them digging into my ankles, as I expected they would. Instead, the bottle lands without breaking and lays there in its emptiness for a moment before simply blinking out of existence altogether.

The people outside my house change once more. A dog appears at my feet—my old dog that died almost four years ago. It wags its little brown-and-white tail when it sees me, and its muddy paws on my leg feel so real that I almost believe this isn't just some hallucination caused by the poison before it kills me. The world begins to spin once more and mutlicoloured lights dance in front of my eyes for a few seconds before I pass out.


	3. Recollection

_Everywhere people are singing and dancing; talking and laughing and shouting. Here and there, torches illuminate the dark. Fireflies are providing some help to the torches, I notice with a smile. They’re flying around the boy next to me, and I can just barely make out his drunken grin through his mask. Not everyone would find him attractive, but I’ve looked at that idiot’s face enough to have fallen in love with it. And I have, and with the boy it belongs to as well._

_Not that I could ever let him know. It would be against every law of this city, and every city, for two boys to love each other. If the prince found out..._

_I force myself to divert my attention from my sinful emotions. “Hey, do you know where Romeo went?” I ask. “I don’t see him anywhere.”_

_“Who cares about Romeo, Benny Babe?” Mercutio raises his glass and clinks it against mine. “The two of us together make a wonderful party, and I don't want us to be crashed by your troubles.”_

_“Don’t call me 'babe',” I mumble, heat spreading through my cheeks. “You should be thinking about Romeo, too. He’s your friend too, remember?” I glance around the room full of dancing people—dancing Capulets, that is. “What if somebody found out who he was and kicked him out—or worse?”_

_“Damn, Benny, you worry too much. Shoulda called you Mother Henvolio.” Mercutio leans over to ruffle my hair and I can smell the liquor on his breath. “Just relax and enjoy the party.”_

_“Easy for you to say that,” I mutter. “You were actually invited.”_

_We’re standing over by the refreshments table, but I can tell Mercutio wants us to dance. We can’t, though. If anyone saw us together, we’d be exiled for sure. Still, what more do I have to lose? I’m already a Montague at a Capulet party. Dancing with a boy can’t get me into any more trouble than I’d already be in if I got caught, right?_

_I let him lead me onto the dance floor and we spin slowly around the room, our bodies closer than they’ve ever been before for more than a couple of moments at a time. I can’t help but watch for people watching us, and I watch for my cousin as well, but it looks like Romeo is—_

_Wait, I see him! It looks like he’s talking to a Capulet girl a couple years younger than him. Wait, is he... taking his mask off? Is he... kissing her?! Panic flares in my chest. I want to go over there and slap my cousin for being such an idiot, but that would only draw attention to us. Instead, I gently tap Mercutio on the shoulder and point to Romeo and the Capulet girl._

_“Wha?” Mercutio glances at where I’m pointing, and he lets out a low whistle. “Wow. I tell ya, Benvolio, I had no clue your cousin had that much game.”_

_He twirls me around and dips me so low that I almost hit my head on the floor. Then he pulls me in close and lifts the mask off his face. I’m concerned about Romeo, to say the least, but I’m almost as drunk as Mercutio, so I let him pull me in and revel in the feeling of our faces brushing together._

_His lips approach mine._

_“We can’t,” I mumble, my words slurring together. “S’against the rules.”_

_“Ah, I see… you fear that we'll be tracked by our prints. But I’m related to the prince, remember?” Mercutio purrs into my ear. “He wouldn’t punish me. And I bet I could talk him into letting you off easy too.”_

_Somehow I doubt that the prince would be swayed like that, but out of selfishness I let myself believe it for just long enough._

*

A wet rag being slapped across my forehead is a rude awakening from my dream. At first I don’t want to believe that it’s over. Every time I have that dream, I never want to wake up and face the world as it is five years after that drunken dance. But every time, I eventually accept that I have to, because I’m never going back to that party, and I’m never getting back the boy who I danced with.

There’s a dull throbbing in my head, and a faint tingle throughout my entire body. Everything is fuzzy at first, but soon enough I remember everything that happened. Friar Laurence—but he wasn’t a friar anymore—and his strange concoction; his promise that it would give me what I had been seeking. That's why I'm surprised to be alive, which I can tell I am because of my aching body. I can also tell because from what I understand, the afterlife isn't so empty and cold.

The faint smell of herbs lingers in the air. I sit up, rubbing my spinning head, and look around. I find myself to be on a cot. Gray stone walls surround me; above me, the ceiling curves upward in an arch. To the side where there's no stone wall, there's a red velvet curtain. There are shuffling, pacing footsteps and concerned mumbling coming from behind the curtain. I slowly lift myself off the cot and pull the curtain just open enough to peer through to what's beyond it without exposing myself to whoever's on the other side.

On the other side of the curtain is an aisle with seats on either side—I'm in a church! And there, pacing up and down the steps to the altar, is the man I saw just this morning.

“I shouldn't have agreed to do it,” Laurence is muttering to himself. “Those children don't know each other or themselves well enough to make this work.”

What is he talking about? Wait, is he the one who put me on the cot? He must be. But why is he in his old church, and wearing his friar robes at that? He said he wasn't a friar anymore! In fact, now that I think about it, this church doesn't exist anymore. I always forget, because I rarely went here anyway, but it was burned to the ground by a group of radicals shortly after the news about Romeo and Juliet went public in a form of protest since it was here that the lovers were wed. It was rebuilt, but I've been inside it a couple times and it looks different now.

Unable to restrain my curiosity, I clear my throat and step out from behind the curtain, holding the rag to my forehead (I'm still dizzy from… whatever happened when I drank the potion, and all these sudden new questions I have only make it worse). “Um, Laurence…?”

He glances up from his pacing and muttering. “Ah, I'm glad to see you're awake,” he says with a smile, but there's a faint confusion in his eyes, and he's not the only one who’s confused. Is it just me, or is he missing a few wrinkles? “I must admit, I was quite worried when your friend showed up saying he found you passed out on your front porch.”

My friend? I wrack my brain, trying to think of anyone who's still alive that I could really describe as my friend. I come up with nobody; I've led an even lonelier life these past five years than I realized.

“He certainly did seem to be in a panic,” Laurence continues, stopping to relight a candle that had gone out. “If you'd been a woman I'd have sworn he was your lover, what with the way he carried you here in his arms. It was the most serious I've ever seen young Mercutio be.”

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. “F-Friar, did you say…?!” I must have misheard him. Maybe he said Petruchio or something. I rub my temples, positive I'm going crazy.

“And it's funny, too, because your cousin was just in here a minute ago.”

Such casual words, yet so impossible! I thank the Friar—because he clearly is a friar now—or again—or whatever, even if he's not supposed to be one anymore—and stumble down the steps and down the aisle, tripping on a wrinkle in the carpet but scrambling back up to my blistered bare feet and continuing to run, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my eardrums. I lift up the long, flowing black robes I put on before drinking the potion so I don't trip on that too.

Out the door, away from the church that isn't even supposed to be there, and into the streets. It's a hot summer day; but it isn't just any hot summer day. There's something in the air that makes me know just what day it is.


	4. Relive

I know exactly what day it is. It's that day I curse each time I close my eyes. It's that one horrible moment that led to so many other horrible moments, not just for me but for everyone. It's the day of that first death I was thinking about just this morning.

Or was that really this morning? It certainly doesn't seem like it. All evidence points to this being five years ago. But that's impossible. I must be dreaming, or still on my porch hallucinating—or dead, and this is some insane purgatory. If it is purgatory, it's the cruelest it could be. I've experienced this day time and time again in my mind already; I don't need to see it all play out yet again.

I don't even know why I'm still running, so I stop and lean up against a wall to catch my breath. If this is a dream of some sort, then there's no logic to it, and running won't do me any good. And if it's not a dream, well… that's impossible. What else could it be? The drug must have been poison. I must be dead or dying, and this is all—

_It shall give you what you have been seeking._ The words echo in my head, as they have all afternoon as I mulled over whether or not to take the potion. That had to mean death, right? That's what the potion gave me? Or could it be that somehow I've been…?

No. Impossible! This is all so impossible! Frustrated, I throw my hood back up over my still-throbbing head and clench my fists. Nothing makes sense, so it must be an illusion. If it was real, it would make sense. Real life makes sense. Real life has some sort of logic to it.

Or does it really?

Life didn't seem to hold any logic five years ago, when a simple fight on the street led to one death, then another because of that, then an exile and another death because of that, then three more deaths because of some bizarre plan gone horribly wrong. If so much could be lost in just a few days, maybe something can be regained in just a few hours—or minutes, even. It seems unlikely, but what if I really am alive, awake, and gone back in time to five years ago?

Wearing a long, heavy black cloak with a hood isn't the smartest thing to do on a hot day, but if all of this is real—there's no way it is, but at this point I have nothing to lose either way—then I can't risk meeting my past self and having him recognize me as himself. Friar Laurence didn't seem to notice that I looked older, but if I run into someone who knew me better…

“Why, hello there, kind sir!” I freeze at the sound of the voice behind me—a joyous, youthful voice that brings a tear to my eye because it's been so long since I’ve last heard it. “Bit warm for such attire, wouldn't you say?”

It is too warm for this cloak, but I can't take it off now, especially not in front of him. I slowly turn around, hunching my back like an old woman so that the hood covers more or less my entire face. “What's it to you, lad?” I ask in a slightly higher-pitched voice than my natural one. My voice cracks when I see him standing there—my cousin Romeo, alive and looking happy for a reason that I wouldn't have known at the time. “Make it a habit to talk to strangers on the street, do you?”

He bounces a little on his heels, a silly grin plastered all over his face. It's the look of somebody who's so deep in love that they forget about their best friends and leave them to fight and die on the street. “Sorry to bother you; I'm just in a good mood today,” he says. “My girlfriend and I just got married! Can you believe that?!”

_I didn't want to believe it when I first heard about it_ , I want to say, but of course I can't say that. It would reveal my identity, and besides, I hadn't even found out about it yet at this point in time. Instead I say, “Ah, young love, eh? Tell me, what's your lady's name?”

Romeo opens his mouth but then blinks as though he just remembered, _oh yeah; I'm not supposed to tell anyone I married a Capulet_ and he shuts his mouth. “I'd love to tell you all about her—she's really a wonderful girl—but I think I hear my cousin calling me,” he stammers, and I want to laugh because he doesn't realize that _I'm_ his cousin. “Good day, sir! Rest you merry!”

He takes off, skipping along and swinging his arms and humming some sappy love song to himself. I feel disgusted. Now he's going to run into me—the other me, who actually belongs in this moment in time—and Mercutio being challenged by Tybalt. And he's not going to help Mercutio, even when it's clear he needs the help. That years-old bitterness creeps up again, filling my mouth with the acrid taste of all the unnecessary tears shed because of Romeo's stupidity. I push it away, this time with good reason. If this is somehow real, and the potion the Friar gave me wasn't to kill me at all, but rather to take me back in time…

The realization hits me, not like a rock, but like a beam of sunlight after weeks of rain and rot. I get another chance! I can prevent all of the death and sadness from ever occurring! All I have to do is get to the spot where the fight took—no, is going to take place. I don't have a sword on me, of course, but I can grab one of off somebody else.

My mind is spinning just as it was when I drank the potion, but this time it's in a good way. I can save them all! I run after Romeo, but I stay behind him, because as excited as I am, the rational part of me that everyone used to praise me for is reminding me that it wasn't already too late when Romeo got to the scene of the fight, but only when he refused to fight Tybalt. I can arrive just after Romeo and still be on time to save Mercutio. I can still change history.

But wait; what if Romeo stopping to talk to me delayed him just enough for him to now arrive just a bit after… after what was to me, at the time, the unthinkable? But what if it does happen again? What if I can't stop it? I can't take that risk. I speed up, running past Romeo, who doesn't even seem to notice me passing him. He's stopped to pick a flower from a dangling pot outside someone's house. I kick up a cloud of dirt at him out of spite. _It's your fault you died_ , I think, though that's exactly what I'm trying to prevent here. _But that wasn't good enough, was it? You had to take so many other people with you. Including the boy I loved._

But all of that is going to change now. I'm sure of it. I try to remember whereabouts the fight took place; I've tried so hard to block out my memories of this day, but all I've managed to forget are the actually useful details like this one. Those memories of blood staining Mercutio’s white button-up shirt—the awful sensation of it against my hands as I dragged him away from the scene of the fight? Those memories won't be repressed, no matter how hard I try. I listen for the sounds of a large crowd of people laughing and cheering and jeering, or for that clinking of two swords that makes me shudder every time I hear it now, but I can't hear anything. The fight must not have started yet—or maybe I'm just on the wrong side of town.

I slow down and wait for somewhere between a second and a year—the adrenaline pumping through my body is insisting it's longer than I know it is. It tells me I need to keep moving. I force myself to stay still and listen for a bit longer, and sure enough, faint, distant shouts begin to ring through the air. I run again, following these shouts. Running with a black cloak on in the hot Verona summer is really not a good idea, but I want to be sure I get there in time.

The shouts get louder as I rush down streets narrow and wide alike, turning corners and passing people of all ages and from all houses. And now there's that clinking of swords, and the cheers grow louder and then quieter and then stop for a bit and then pick back up louder than ever. I clench my fists as I run, trying not to let the noises trigger any traumatic flashbacks. I don't need a flashback. I'm literally reliving it all, physically, right here and now. But this time things are going to be different. I'm going to make them different.

I round another bend and here I am, in the town square. My heart flutters when I realize that this is where that golden statue is now—or will be, I suppose, in five year's time. It occurs to me that they’ll have no reason to build that statue if I succeed.

_The life you lead now will cease to exist altogether_. Those words make so much more sense to me now. I'm going to do it! I'm going to change history! I shove my way through the crowd, not bothering to apologize to them as they protest to my shoves. I'm normally a very polite person, but there's no time to be polite now. I need to save my… friend, I decide. That's what he is. That's what he'll be just long enough for me to save him without doing anything too drastic, as I know I would for the person I love. I don't need to sacrifice myself here. I could, of course, but if I'm going to change the future, shouldn't I live to see it?

Over the top of a shorter spectator's head, I can see them fighting on the steps up to some building. I recognize it as the building that I pulled Mercutio into, panicking, but insisting that he was going to be all right… But that's not important, because it won't happen this time around. I push past the short spectator, who fixes me with a glare that I couldn't care less about. I can see them fully now, and my heart flutters once again because they're both _there_ —Mercutio and Tybalt, who in the original version of events are both going to be dead very soon. But I'll stop that. I'll save them both, and then everyone else as well, just by stopping the fight right now.

I run up to the bottom of the steps where they're fighting and stamp my foot to get their attention. “Hey, you two!” I yell when they ignore me—or maybe they just don't hear me, I don't know. “Stop fighting right now or you're both under arrest!”

They turn to look at me and I gulp when I realize that I didn't bother to disguise my voice. I study Mercutio's face, but he doesn't seem to know who I am.

“Oh, we're under arrest, are we?” Tybalt growls, turning his back on Mercutio and pointing his epee at me instead. “That's funny; you don't look like the prince.”

I wonder if Mercutio is going to stab Tybalt in the back while he's focused on me, but he doesn't. I suppose he's nobler than his wretched foe—not that I didn't know that already. _God, that face!_ I find myself thinking. I've dreamed for so long of seeing it again. I have to stop myself from running up those steps and jumping into his arms.

I pry my eyes away from Mercutio. Tybalt is slowly walking down the steps, keeping his weapon pointed directly at me. I should probably move away, but I stay rooted to the ground, and soon enough the tip of his epee is poking my chest, tearing a hole in my cloak. Its cold metal rests against my skin. I glance down at it and then up at his eyes, which reveal that he'll have no qualms about pushing that blade through my skin.

I force my voice to remain as steady as his arm as I speak. “Okay, then; you won't be under arrest,” I say slowly in a way that I hope comes off as threatening when really I'm just trying to figure out what to say. “If it’s what it takes to break up this petty fight, I'll kill you. I really don't want to have to do that, though, so if you want to live, lower that weapon right this instant.”

Behind me, the rowdy crowd had grown silent as I talked. Now that I try to threaten Tybalt, their voices rise up again in volume, throwing out protests and insults. One person throws a stone at me; it bounces off my leg and rolls down the steps with a clatter.

Tybalt slowly lowers his sword away from my chest and for a moment I relax. Then he suddenly extends his arm and shoves me. I stumble but manage to avoid the humiliation of falling—not that that stops the crowd from laughing at me.

I clench and unclench my fists, trying not to let my seething rage seep through into my voice. “Thank you for lowering your weapon,” I say in a low hiss. I step up one stair higher so that Tybalt and I are nose-to-nose, my eyes (mostly) involuntarily flickering up to Mercutio. He doesn’t know how lucky he is to still be standing there, safe for now at least. “It would be a shame for this fight to take an unpleasant direction.”

“By my measure, any lull in the fighting should be an unpleasant direction!” Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Tybalt slowly raising his epee toward my neck. “Why don’t you leave us alone? Or, if not, you may find yourself this fight’s first casualty.”

There’s a stir in the crowd and I almost jump when I hear my own voice coming from the bottom of the stairs. Luckily, it’s not directed at me, but…

“Romeo, you showed up!” The other me has such a relieved voice, unaware of my cousin’s imminent refusal to help. “Boy, I’m glad you’re here. Hey, do you see that guy up there?”

I can’t risk turning around—Tybalt is keeping eye contact with me and I fear he’ll kill me instantly if I dare look away. But I can picture Romeo’s eyes lighting up with naïve excitement at seeing Tybalt. “Ah, there he is,” he cries. “How’s it going, my good man?”

Tybalt pushes me aside and glares down at Romeo. Now that there’s no blade being pointed at me, I can move, and I turn to watch the scenario playing out almost like I watched it play out five years ago, but from a different angle this time, and slightly differently because of the slight interference I’ve already caused.

“Why are you so pleased to see me, Montague?” Tybalt demands. “Had you been hoping to be killed today?”

Romeo’s face falls slightly, but his smile doesn’t vanish entirely. “You wouldn’t kill me,” he says. “You love me, don’t you?”

The crowd breaks out into laughter. Romeo looks offended. “Well, even if you hate me, I can’t help but love you,” he continues, and the laughter grows louder. “After all, any kin of Juliet is kin of mine! Why can’t we get along?”

“Cousin, what are you talking about?!” gasps the past me, gripping Romeo’s sleeve nervously. “Can’t you see that bloodlust in his eyes? He hates you!”

It’s kind of a curious thing to watch: more or less the same events, but all the words are a bit different. I tug the hood further over my face—I can’t risk being recognized—and take a few steps backward up the stairs just to be safe. I don’t want to get in the way if they start fighting.

Mercutio taps my shoulder. “Hey, whoever you are,” he whispers, “thanks for stepping in when you did. I was doing pretty badly out there.”

Beneath my hood, my cheeks flush at the sound of his praise and I have to remind myself that he doesn’t know it’s me. I can’t let him know I’m Benvolio, because Benvolio is down there, trying to talk sense into Romeo.

“I saw somebody in trouble,” I mumble. “I wanted to help; that’s all.”

“Well, it looks like I’ve been saved... for now.” He tightens his hand on my shoulder, glancing nervously at Tybalt. “I tell you, that guy is crazy. If you hadn’t shown up he probably would have killed me.”

_He did,_ I think, _in the version of reality that I come from. I saw you die._ My eyes water slightly as I take in his living face. I turn away; I can’t let him see me cry. It’ll confuse him, because as far as he knows I’m a stranger who has no reason to cry over him. And if I succeed—and I _will_ succeed—then I’ll have no need to cry at all. This time I’ll keep him safe.


	5. Rescue

So here we are, the summer air vibrating with intense heat. I’m standing beside Mercutio, taking a paranoid glance back at him every few seconds just to make sure I’m not imagining this; he really is still alive. At the bottom of the steps, the tensions have shifted focus away from us entirely.

“I am no lover of yours, villain!” Tybalt spits at Romeo. “Such a thing would go against all of God’s laws!”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like...” Romeo gestures vaguely. “I love you as I love my own family.”

I can’t help but flinch at Tybalt’s comment. My eyes keep straying back to Mercutio, who’s focusing intently on the back-and-forth going on below. It is wrong, isn’t it? He’s my friend. That one night meant nothing.

Still... “What do you think of all this?” I mutter to Mercutio.

“I don’t know.” He bites his lip. “I kinda want to go down there and show Tybalt his place, but I’m afraid he’ll end up teaching me mine instead, and that the place in question will be below the ground.”

“You and your wordplay,” I sigh, laughing weakly and forgetting for a moment that I’m supposed to be a stranger. Inside, I want to wince as I remember him cracking a similar joke while he staggered, clutching his bleeding stomach. But that was in a different reality. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Well, I’d hope you wouldn’t do anything with me, considering this is the first time we’ve met,” Mercutio says, squinting at me. “...This _is_ the first time I’ve seen you, right? Y’know, I found Benny—er, I mean Benvolio, that kind of cute guy down there next to Romeo—I found him passed out a couple hours ago wearing a black robe just like yours.”

I flinch and yank the edges of the hood over my face again; it was riding up a bit, almost exposing my eyes. In my sudden panic, I don’t even notice that Mercutio just referred to me as “kind of cute”.

“Wow, what a coincidence,” I say cautiously, trying to make my voice sound slightly different. “He doesn’t seem to be wearing any such thing now.”

Mercutio narrows his eyes. “You’re right.” He ducks down, turning his head to try to see what I look like under my hood. I turn away.

“Please don’t try to look at me,” I say, not shouting but loudly enough so he’ll get the point. “I’m really very ugly.”

“Ah, is that so?” I’m covering my eyes with my pulled-down hood, but when I hear that teasing tone in Mercutio’s voice, I can picture the twinkle in his eye. “No wonder you cover your face—the hood is a lovelier sight than your face would be when exposed! Why, I feel sorry for that cloak, for it must cover such a wretched form...”

I let him rant on, suddenly wondering what it was about him that I ever liked in the first place. Okay, that’s not entirely true—I do remember, and I know that it’s still in effect right now. But I am frustrated at myself for ever falling for somebody so aggravating—and a boy, no less! Why did it have to be this person, of all the lovely faces in Verona, that captured my heart?

I can’t express my frustration right now, though, because that would reveal who I really am. Besides, there are more important things going on. It looks like Romeo has finally realized that Tybalt isn’t friendly, and has put up his sword. They haven’t crossed blades yet, but I can tell that it’s going to happen at any moment.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Romeo is saying. “I want us to get along. I know you don’t like me, but if you got to know me I think—”

“The only thing I want to get to know about you,” Tybalt growls, "is how you handle that blade of yours.”

He thrusts at Romeo, who jumps back and avoids any damage other than a rip in his shirt. It looks like it finally hit him how serious the situation is. _Funny_ , I can't help but think, _in the future I come from, it took the death of his friend for him to realize that._ The two boys' swords clash and the crowd cheers. The past version of me starts freaking out; I remember wanting to join in and help my friends but being too cowardly to actually do it. What if I got in trouble? _Well, past me, that worrisome attitude certainly didn't get you very far._

“I'd best get back down there and help him out,” Mercutio mutters as he watches. “This was supposed to be my duel, after all.”

“Don't,” I blurt almost too quickly for the stranger I'm supposed to be. If he goes down there and fights, everything might turn out the same way it did originally!

He gives me a sideways look. “Why is it that you’re so concerned about my fate, stranger?”

“Um...” I fumble for an explanation. “You’re related to the prince! So, if you got hurt, he might take it out on me.”

I watch him warily, hoping he’ll accept that reason. He doesn’t say anything, but he grinds his jaw a bit, like he’s thinking about my logic.

“Why should I care if you get in trouble?” Mercutio says finally. “My loyalties lie with those fellows down there, and they need my help.” He gives me a gentle shove. “Don’t you have any friends, stranger? If so, you’d understand.”

Then he turns and skips down the stairs, waving his sword wildly and letting out energetic whoops and shouts. I don’t want to let him do this, but I tell myself that if things get too rough I’ll butt in again and help him. I walk down a couple steps just to make sure I’m close enough to reach him if need be.

Mercutio draws Tybalt’s attention back away from Romeo, and it’s the perfect chance for Romeo to strike him, but he hesitates. Then somebody tosses Tybalt an extra sword so he can fight them both at once and the three boys break out into a chaotic two-against-one swordfight. The past version of me glances side to side frantically, reaching for his own sword. I edge another step down and the quiet shuffle of my feet catches his (my?) attention just as my hood flops off my head, exposing my face.

I tug the hood back down over my face either a second before or a second after the past version of me sees the current version—or rather, the future version, since I’m in the past. From the other me’s reaction, it seems like it was a second after, but he blinks, rubs his eyes, and doesn’t say anything about it.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” the crowd chants, growing steadily louder until it becomes a roar. A girl appears at the edge of the crowd, and when she sees the fight her eyes go wide. In a flash I recognize her as the girl Romeo was with at the ball. It’s Juliet!

I pray that Romeo won’t notice her. If he does, he’ll get distracted from the duel. But their eyes meet, and he lowers his sword for a moment to gaze into her eyes—she is fairly pretty, I can see, but decidedly not my type. While he’s looking at her, Tybalt takes the opportunity to knock Romeo’s sword out of his hand. It clatters to the ground and the sound jerks Romeo’s attention back to what it should be, but a bit too late. In a flash Tybalt has one sword pointed at Romeo’s chest, and the other hovering next to Mercutio’s throat.

He raises his voice and addresses the crowd. “What do you say, boys?” he asks, laughing. “Should I kill them now?”

It’s a mixed response from the crowd—some yelling “finish them off!” and others complaining: “Not like this; it’s no fun if they’ve got no chance to fight back!” My throat tightens as I look on. I reach the bottom of the steps and inch toward Tybalt. I don't have any weapons, so I'll have to be creative here.

“Ah, to see my enemies at the end of my blade,” Tybalt drawls. Then he does something I definitely wasn't expecting: he draws closer to Mercutio—almost too close—and whispers something in his ear. I can't hear what he's saying, but the sight makes me shudder. Romeo shudders as well, but I feel like it's for a different reason. I tell myself not to be so stupid. There's nothing going on here to be jealous of; he's just messing with him. At least, that's what I hope…

A few people in the crowd must notice me, surely? But nobody points me out to Tybalt, who's so preoccupied with taunting Romeo and Mercutio that he doesn't see me approaching. It's like I thought: most of these people aren't really on anybody's side. They'll just sway toward whoever's winning.

Once I get up close enough, I raise my arm and put my hand sideways—fingers pressed together, but not curled into a fist. I bring my hand down and give him a quick chop to the side of his neck. To my shock, he actually crumples to the ground, his victory speech cut off.

The crowd gasps. “You killed him!” somebody shouts accusingly. I glance down; did I really kill him with just that?! I was trying to save everybody here, not just the people I liked; if he's really dead then I've failed. I bend down and check if he's breathing, and sag with relief when I see that he is.

“He's just passed out,” I announce, and the crowd calms down somewhat—but only somewhat.

“How can one faint at such a simple touch?” somebody demands. Another person mutters something about witchcraft. “Who is this boy, anyway? Why won't he take off that hood?!”

This isn't good. Now everybody's focused on me, including my past self. Romeo and Mercutio are both standing in place, stunned. I brace myself for… well, I don't know what exactly, but I can tell that something is about to transpire. All the gathered youth begin to murmur, and a few people start chanting, “Take off your hood! Take off your hood!” I back away, tugging nervously at the cloth of my cloak.

The chant grows louder. “Take off your hood! Take off your hood! Take off your hood!” Should I run?“TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF!”

The past version of me is watching me very closely. He knows that I'm him. He probably doesn't know how or why this is happening, but I'd like to think I'm fairly smart. He did see me with my hood down. But will he tell everyone?

My foot bumps against Tybalt's sword, which he dropped when he fainted. I'm still confused about how exactly I managed to knock him out, but I think it had something to do with where I hit him. I lean down to pick up the sword, then change my mind and instead grab the one that he borrowed from somebody in the crowd. Stealing directly from him while he's unconscious just seems wrong.

Suddenly Romeo blinks, snapping out of his stupor. He raises his voice to speak above the chanting crowd. “Leave this young man alone,” he commands. “He saved my life—and Mercutio's—and even managed to incapacitate the opponent without killing him. I say we should be grateful.”

The crowd murmurs in agreement. A few people keep chanting for a bit, but they die down when they realize everybody else has gone quiet.

Everything seems to have settled down. Nobody's telling me to reveal my face anymore, so I can finally relax. The other me rushes over to Romeo and Mercutio. “Are you both okay?!” he asks.

“We're fine,” Romeo assures him. He glances at me. “Thanks a lot for helping us out. It's things like this that restore my faith in humanity. Truly amazing how a random stranger can be so kind as to put his life on the line…”

They walk away and the crowd disperses and despite everything—or _because_ of everything, really—I break into a wide grin. It's the widest smile that's been on my face since the time I lived through this day in a very different way five years ago. I did it. I really did it! I changed the course of history and saved my…

My… _my_ what, exactly? As long as I'm back here in the past, nobody in this time is _my_ anything. Laurence didn't mention a way to get back to my own time. Will I even be able to return at all? Or will I be forced to live on five years in an altered past from now on?

It doesn't really matter, though, does it? I mean, this is amazing! Things are going to be so much better for the version of me from this timeline than they were for this version of me. I almost envy that five-years-younger Benvolio, walking off into the sunset with his still-alive cousin and his…

…His what, exactly?

Because maybe in this new future I've created, they'll get the chance that I never got…


	6. Reconsideration

Night has settled over Verona. It's a dark and cloudy night despite my current elation. Such a wonderful drug is success! But I suppose the weather doesn't always reflect how you feel.

Then again, as the temperature steadily drops, maybe the way I feel is starting to line up a bit better with the weather after all… I always had a place to go home to, but I pitied those who weren't so lucky. Now I'm one of those people with nowhere to go. I'm huddled in a dirty alleyway, my arms wrapped around my knees, and I've still got the same black robe on. I realized a few hours ago that now I'm not in the same place as a past version of myself I can take my hood off, so my hair is blowing all over in the breeze whenever it picks up.

_This is kind of like that one night_. I try to push the thought away. It has no place here. But it slips through the cracks in my brain and I’m overcome with long-faded memories. _We still thought we had long lives ahead of us back then._

_We will have long lives now,_ I remind myself. _Maybe not this version of me, but the other me will be able to be with him from now on. Isn’t that good enough?_

Maybe it’s not as good as that one night was. It’s cold, but not so cold that I could freeze—it is still summer, after all—so I close my eyes and let myself slip into sleep. My dreams, not surprisingly, fill with images of the happier times that were never possible for this version of me.

*

_Our feet dangle in the water, and its salty smell fills my nostrils. I take in a deep breath and then spread my arms, laughing because in some other world, I don’t have any of this._

_One of my outspread arms smacks Mercutio in the face and he sputters, pushing my hand away. Then, as if in an afterthought, he slides his hand down my arm so that our fingers lace. He squeezes my hand gently, but firmly enough to remind me that he’s mine._

_“I take it you like the ocean,” he jokes. “Maybe we should come here more often. Hell, for your sake I’d carry this ocean all the way back to your household so that you can have it whenever you wish.”_

_“Wouldn’t it be nice,” I sigh. I gaze into his shining eyes and see the vast ocean reflected in them. I run my hand over his face. “But I don’t need the ocean when I have something even better.”_

_“Oh, you flatter me, Benny.” He draws his legs up out of the water and crosses them. “How can I be as good as the ocean? Nothing sails on me, and nothing swims in me. The only way we are comparable is that being around you—”_

_“Please don’t say something about being wet,” I groan. Nothing spoils a romantic mood quicker than a dirty joke, which dating Mercutio has taught me very quickly._

_“What? And they said you were the mature one, Benvolio!”_

_“Well, what were you going to say, then?”_

_“Well, the ocean is pretty deep, right?” Mercutio says slowly, and I can tell he’s just making it up as he goes along but I sit back and listen to him try to come up with something romantic and non-sexual. “I can be deep. And you can get deep into m—no, that’s dirty too. Um...”_

_I laugh. “It’s fine if you’ve got a dirty mind,” I tease. “It complements the rest of you.”_

_“Well, maybe we should clean off in the ocean, then!” Mercutio leans over and pokes my nose, making me giggle. “C’mon, Benny; we’re going for a swim!”_

_He yanks off his shirt and I blush, as I do every time he does so. I take a while longer taking off my clothes, and I keep on my shorts—I don’t want to be indecent. By the time I’ve eased myself into the water, Mercutio is already in, but he’s clearly having trouble staying afloat._

_“Can’t swim, huh?” I chuckle. I float over to him and lift his arms off the dock. “It’s not so hard. Here, try floating.”_

_I guide him a bit farther out and tell him to lie flat on his back. He complies, but he seems worried. I tell him he has no reason to be._

_“Just relax and keep your limbs spread,” I instruct him, holding up his back. “The water will do the rest of the work.”_

_“Okay, but if I sink, you’ve gotta rescue me,” Mercutio mutters._

_I take my hands away from his back. “You’ll do fine.” Without my support, he floats on his own fairly well. Satisfied, I turn my back on him for a moment, gazing up at the sky and shielding my eyes from the sun. A seagull squawks and I laugh again. Everything is perfect._

_Suddenly Mercutio cries out in alarm. “Benny!”_

_I move to hold him up again, but suddenly I’m far away from where he’s floating—and slowly sinking—in the water. “Try kicking your legs!” I shout. “And rotate your arms. You’ll stay afloat that way!”_

_“Benny!” he cries again. “Benvolio, help me!!”_

_I can’t see him anymore. I spin around, panic beginning to spread through me. “Mercutio! Where are you?!” I submerge my head, keeping my eyes open, and propel myself in the direction of his frantic voice. The salt water fills my mouth even though it isn’t open._

_“Please, Benvolio,” Mercutio is pleading, but I can’t see him or even tell where his voice is coming from. “You have to save me.”_

_Am I even in the ocean anymore? I flail around, a flurry of pointlessly thrashing limbs in water or air or wherever I am. The edges of my vision are tinged with red. I know it’s not my blood, which can only mean it’s his. The beautiful summer day dissolves around me as I shout Mercutio’s name over and over, helpless to save him._

*

I burst awake, sitting bolt upright and panting. Sweat covers my body, dripping off my face and becoming indistinguishable from the tears. They both fall on my robe while I clutch my head, trying to clear the ending to the dream from my mind. He isn’t dead anymore! I changed the timeline! So why did I still dream about losing him again?

Why can’t any of my dreams, even now, end happily? Why can’t I wake up and find myself where I want to be and with who I want to be with?

It’s still dark out, but I can’t risk falling back asleep and having another nightmare. I remain hunched in the alleyway for some time. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. I don’t know. Either way, I’m still stuck here in the past. My mission is accomplished, but I didn’t really fix things for myself. I can create a new, happier Benvolio Montague who can love and be with Mercutio, but the one sitting here in this alley won’t go away. I’m still too broken from the future that won’t even happen anymore.

Finally, I get too hungry and start looking around for something to eat. The roar of the ocean still echoes in my ears even though I wasn’t even really there at all. I used to live in a house by the ocean before I moved into the Montague household. Living with my cousin was fun, but he could be such a pain sometimes. Everybody was always asking me where he was. Sometimes I couldn’t answer them because he didn’t tell me everything, even though I used to think he did before finding out about Juliet.

How can he just keep a secret like that? Well, since I’m still back here five years ago, maybe I can make another thing right as well. I don’t have a concrete plan just yet, but scraps of one are quickly forming in my mind. I’ll expose the lovers! I’ll let everybody know about them, and then... and then...

But not just yet. Right now I have to find something to eat. I stumble around the streets of Verona until I find a baker. I have no money, but I could steal something, right?

The baker leaves his shop and I know it’s my chance. I can grab a loaf of bread any time now. But... that wouldn’t be right. I don’t even belong in this time. I can’t take things without paying for them.

For the next half hour or so, I scan the ground for coins and manage to scrape up just enough to buy a pastry. It tastes okay, but its sweetness can to nothing to brighten the dull realization of my situation that’s come over me. Even if I do expose Romeo and Juliet’s relationship, what good will it really do? My cousin will probably wind up getting banished just he like he was in the original timeline, and then things will just play out like they did before. I didn’t just do this to save Mercutio; I did it to save _everyone_. If I ruin things for my cousin just to keep my crush safe, what good will I be doing anyone?

Forget that plan, then. I sigh and draw the hood back over my head; I can never be too careful, and my past self could be coming around the corner at any moment now. Maybe I should do something about my hair. Then again, maybe not. I trudge around aimlessly for a while, eventually finding myself at the door to the church I woke up in yesterday, when I first arrived in the past.

Well, what do I have to lose? I knock a few times on the giant mahogany doors, shuddering at the booming echo. “Just a moment!” a familiar voice calls from inside. A few seconds later, the doors are swung open by Friar Laurence. “Ah, Benvolio! I wasn’t expecting to see you back here so soon. Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine, Friar,” I say, glad I don’t go to church often so he doesn’t recognize me as being five years older. “I was just dropping by to say thank you.”

“Ah. Well, you’re very welcome, but helping people is simply my job,” Friar Laurence says. “It’s what God wants me to do.”

_What God wants…_ that never factored into my actions very much. I try to do what other people will want. Suddenly I feel self-conscious. Did going back in time go against the will of God? Well, I decide defiantly, if His will is to have my friends die, I’ll gladly go against His will!

I don’t say that to Laurence, of course. “Can I come in?” I ask instead. “Or would I be intruding on anything?”

“All are welcome in this church,” says Friar Laurence. “Come in, and tell me what’s been bothering you. I can tell that something is,” he adds when he sees my surprise. “It’s okay; you can tell me anything.”

He leads me inside and up to the altar. I know that Romeo and Juliet were married here just yesterday, but I also know that I’m not supposed to know that, so I can’t let Laurence know that I know. We sit down on the steps up to the podium.

“Now then, Benvolio, care to tell me why you’ve come here?” he asks. His kindly face makes me feel like I really can tell him anything. He probably won’t believe me, but what harm can it do?

“Holy Father,” I begin, wondering how I can even begin to explain all that’s happened in the span of a day, “do I look any… older… to you?”

He cocks his head. “Now that you mention it, your hair seems a bit longer. And is that stubble?” Friar Laurence peers closer at me, and his eyes slowly widen. “Not to mention those dark circles under your eyes… Benvolio, what’s happened to you?!”

I take a deep breath in and when I exhale, the truth comes out along with my breath. “Five years happened to me, Holy Father. Five long years that felt more like centuries. Every second being without them felt like an hour, and every hour that I was left alone with my memories felt like a day.” I pause to catch my breath before going on: “I’m not who you think I am. I mean, I am who you think I am, but not really. I come from… another time. A darker time. And you’re the one who sent me from that time back to this one.”

There’s a friendly but somewhat patronizing concern on the Friar’s face. “Are you sure you’re all right, Benvolio?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I say empathetically. “I wasn’t so sure it was real myself, but it is real. I’ve been given another chance to prevent my friends from dying! And I took that chance and now a boy who’s supposed to be dead is alive! Two boys, in fact—though to be completely honest, only one of them was really on my mind at the time.”

“And who would that be?”

“And about that boy,” I babble on, ignoring Laurence’s question. “The other thing I needed to talk to you about is him. You know Romeo’s friend Mercutio, right?”

“I know him all too well,” Friar Laurence mutters. “Why, what did that troublemaker do this time?”

I gulp. Should I really— _dare_ I really tell him? Well, I already told him I was from the future. What more bad could admitting how I feel do?

“He hasn’t done anything this time,” I murmur, staring down at my bare feet and realizing just how much I mean my next sentence. “Friar, I’m in love with Mercutio.”


	7. Restless

Friar Laurence stares at me for a long time without saying anything. I can tell he's working out in his mind what to say to me. How exactly does one respond to such a confession? I sit there, my knees drawn up to my chest; without my realizing at first, tears begin to stream down my cheeks, hitting the red satin carpet. "I love him," I say again, my voice echoing through the church.

"And why do you tell me this now, young Benvolio?" Laurence asks. "Are you confessing a sin, or do you want my romantic advice?"

I try to wipe my tears away before answering, but all my long-buried feelings have bubbled up and are being released at once after all these years of keeping silent. "What should I do?" I hiccup. "He's a boy; i-it's wrong. Will I go to Hell because I love Mercutio?"

In the original timeline, we only shared one drunken dance. After that, we walked home together; he was too drunk to make it home himself, so I let him spend the night at the Montague household. He wanted to share my bed, but I was kind of freaking out about the whole thing so I made him sleep on the floor. A couple days later, he was killed. I never got the chance to really consider the possibility of us being together for real, or the consequences that could arise from it. Now I have that chance, and I have to think about it for the first time.

The Friar claps me on the shoulder. "Love between two men may be looked down upon, but I believe in all and any love," he says. "If you really do come from the future, then you should know that I supported your cousin Romeo when he chose to pursue a Capulet. If children from enemy houses can be together, why should it be any different for you?"

I nod, lifting the corners of my mouth into a halfhearted smile even though his reassurances don't really make me feel better. "So you believe I'm from the future, then?"

"It seems impossible, but I can only accept the evidence in front of me," Friar Laurence says. "Now, the question is whether or not you have any means of getting back to when you came from. If you can tell me what some of the ingredients to the original potion were, then given time I may be able to concoct something that will have the reverse effect."

I blink. "You could do that?!" I gasp. I instantly start wracking my brain for the kinds of plants that were used in the mixture. I don't know the names of many herbs, but I remember what a lot of them looked like. "Can I have something to draw with, then?"

In a few minutes, he's got me sat down with a bit of scrap paper—the back of an old scroll that he doesn't need anymore—and a quill. I dip my quill in some ink and start scratching down what I remember the herb pouch to have looked like. "This plant here was a lighter green," I tell Friar Laurence as I go along, and he marks down a few notes. "And the flowers on this one were pink and red."

By the time I've recreated the herb pouch as best as I can remember, it doesn't seem to be quite good enough. "I still need some more information," Friar Laurence mutters. "But," he adds when my eyes grow downcast again, "I just might be able to make something of this. It will require a bit more research, so I'll have to go out of town. Would you like to come with me? It would be useful to stay out of Verona for a while so nobody finds out who you are."

I shake my head. "Thank you for the offer, Friar, but I need to stay here," I explain. "Since I intervened, Tybalt might want a rematch with Mercutio. If I'm not around to protect him, things might just turn out the way they did…" I tighten my hands into fists involuntarily. "The way they did in the timeline I come from."

Friar Laurence nods understandingly. I help him gather up his things and get ready to go. "You're a good young man, Benvolio," he tells me as he's about to leave. "I hope things work out for you with Mercutio."

"Thank you for saying that," I say quietly. "But I'm just not sure they can at this point."

*

A few days go by with no major events. I do my best to keep hidden, and when somebody does occasionally spot me with my face exposed, they either don't recognize me at all or don't notice I'm five years older. The black robe drew too much attention, so I eventually took it off and gave it for some old beggar to use as a blanket. After about a week, I become more confident and start walking around like any average civilian would, almost forgetting now and then that I'm from a different time. Somehow I manage to avoid running into anyone I know too well. I avoid it, that is, until today…

A couple of peasants are squabbling and I'm restraining myself from going over to them and telling them to knock it off. It's nothing too serious anyway; just a couple of idiots having an argument. Then somebody takes out a dagger.

The other person takes out a knife and it looks like things are about to get serious. People passing by stop and stare; a crowd starts to gather. The arguing peasants glare at each other, neither one quite ready to strike the other just yet. I know I shouldn't stick around, but there's something about a brewing fight that draws people in, and I'm no exception.

"Put down that knife if you want to live," the first peasant growls.

"Only if you put down your dagger first," the second one snaps.

It looks like things are going to get ugly when somebody runs up, waving their arms frantically in the air. It's the other me! "Hey, break it up right now," he's (I'm?) commanding. "It's not even that warm out today! Why are you fighting?"

The first peasant glares at the other me, yelling, "Stay out of this, boy! It doesn't concern you!"

"It will if you force me to get involved," the other me announces, tightening his hand around his sword hilt. "Now, please quit disturbing the peace before anybody gets hurt."

"It's pointless, Ben."

I stiffen. Leaning against a wall behind the past version of me is Mercutio, looking bored and fiddling with a piece of grass.

The other me turns and tries to glare at him, but my face just can't make that expression at that boy like it means it, because I've never been able to stay mad at him. "They're disturbing the peace," the past me huffs, grinding his foot into the dirt. "Don't you care?"

"Hmm. Let me think." Mercutio strokes his chin, pretending to mull it over. Then he snaps his fingers. "No; I don't. And why do you?"

"Merrrrc…" the other me sighs, stomping over to him and making an effort to match his height. "Can't you take these things seriously?"

"Well, sorry I'm not a drama queen like Romeo," Mercutio mutters. His messy blond hair is a bit too short to flip properly, but he does it anyway. "'A girl doesn't like me back! Oh, I'll never love again!' See, would you rather me be like that, or like this?"

"Leave Romeo out of this," the other me mutters. "He might be over Rosaline by now. He just hasn't told us yet."

Watching another version of myself was disconcerting enough when it was just him doing his own thing. But watching him—me—but not really _me_ interacting with the boy that this me loves is an experience like no other. I feel jealous in a way, but I'm jealous of myself… I tell myself to stop thinking about my own foolish feelings and concentrate on keeping everyone safe—but only to intervene if necessary, because I can't draw too much attention. Friar Laurence should be out gathering information and the herbs he needs right now. Soon he'll have something put together for me so that I can go back to my own time—but not exactly my own time, because it will be a better version of reality, in which everyone I love is together and alive and happy. I won't have to watch myself from a distance anymore. All I have to do is wait a few more days…

The peasants who were fighting have stopped, apparently deciding that whatever trivial thing they were arguing about wasn't worth any bloodshed. The small crowd that had gathered around is no longer there—there's nothing exciting going on here anymore. I turn to leave as well, repositioning my hat so that it covers the top of my face in shadow.

As I shuffle away nonchalantly, I hear my own voice chattering away behind me, slowly fading into the distance as I walk. The selfish jealousy can't be entirely repressed, but a new feeling springs up inside me: hope, in a stronger form than ever. That's all going to be mine in a short time. Once the new potion is made, I can live out my life as I have only been able to dream of doing so up until now.

I wander around town for a while in a good mood. Wanting to keep the good mood up, I wander into a theatre, where a comedy is being performed. It's pretty subpar and I can predict exactly what's going to happen long before it finally gets around to happening, but it's cheerful in a way that makes it impossible to hate. I sit with the penny-public since I don't have too much money on me—only what I've found lying around on the streets. Normally I like to try to return dropped money to whoever lost it, and it's earned me praise from adults and teasing from my peers. I know it's a silly thing to do, but it's just in my nature to help people.

Sitting up in the balcony seats are a few couples. I notice that one of these couples seems to be having a bit of an argument, and although they're too far away for me to tell for sure, I think I know the man: County Paris, a relative of Mercutio who I never knew too well or liked too much, but I can't help but respect the way he carries himself. The girl with him has her back to me, but when she turns around I gasp; it's Juliet! I never knew that she and Paris were together, but now that I think about it, it does make sense. After the whole double suicide played out, only certain bits of the story went public. One thing that I never really understood was why Paris had been in Juliet's tomb. But if they were been lovers… although this love, now that I observe them more carefully, seems very one-sided.

During intermission, I sneak up to the balcony level to spy on them. I feel guilty the whole time I'm doing it, but I have to know what's going on between them.

"Juliet, my dove, we have to get married sometime," Paris is murmuring to her as he strokes her hair. "Why not arrange things sooner rather than later?"

Juliet taps her fingers in her lap nervously. I know about her and Romeo, but nobody else does at this point, so she'll have to be careful what she says. "I think it would be better to wait for as long as possible to arrange the wedding," she suggests, "so that we may savour every moment leading up to it."

Paris grabs her hands and clutches them; Juliet flinches but doesn't protest. She's a wise girl.

"But my dear, how can we savour these moments when we do not yet have the sacred marital bond?" Paris demands, squeezing Juliet's hands tighter. "We should marry very soon—this week, perhaps, or next week if you insist. That way we need not delay getting the—" he wriggles his eyebrows up and down suggestively—" _Full enjoyment_ out of our relationship."

Even just watching him from a few rows back, I want to gag. I'm just glad I'm a guy, so my family isn't trying to marry me off to some rich jerk. Then again, if that rich jerk was Mercutio, I'd gladly don a pretty dress and let myself be married off.

"So, um, what do you think of the play so far?" Juliet says, changing the conversation. "I think it's a bit slow, but you seemed to be enjoying it pretty well."

"I enjoy anything I do with you," Paris murmurs. "And I'll enjoy it even more once I've made you my wife."

I know I'm from five years in the future; I know this wouldn't concern me in the slightest even if I wasn't; I know that, as a Montague, I'm supposed to hate Juliet. But knowing she's my cousin's lover, combined with Paris' general creepiness, makes me interfere in the events of the past once again—only this time I wasn't planning on it.

"Hey," I shout from the slightly farther back seat I'm crouching behind. "Maybe she wants to remain a maiden for a little bit longer! Did you ever think about that, County?"

Paris jumps to his feet and glares at me, tightening his hand around the hilt of his sword. "She's my future wife, you scallywag!" he snaps. "She must be interested in me!"

Juliet bobs her head up and down obediently, but she shoots me a look that's both thankful and pleading. I've got most of my face still covered by my hat, but I take the hat off my head and hold it over my face just to be extra careful as I step out from behind the theatre seat. "Maybe she's less interested than you think," I say, the little voice in the back of my head screaming for me to sit back down and stay out of this. "Have you ever considered asking her?"

Paris narrows his eyes. "Why are you covering your face, boy?" Before I can react, he reaches out and snatches my hat away, leaving my face in plain sight. "Hey, I know you!" Paris cries. "You're one of those Montagues that Mercutio is always hanging around with! So why are you sticking up for her?"

"Y-you must have gotten me mixed up with somebody else," I stammer, but Juliet seems to recognize me as well.

"Didn't I see you at that ball?" she asks. "You were wearing a cat mask, but I think you took it off at one point…" she thinks for a moment before remembering, "Oh, yes; you're Romeo's cousin, aren't you?"

Has Romeo told Juliet about me? I wonder how much he's told her. I hope he hasn't told her anything bad. "Sorry; I'm not your guy," I insist. "Hell, I don't even know Romeo!"

"Wait a minute." Paris grabs Juliet and spins her around to face him. "Why do _you_ know Romeo?!"

"T-Tybalt pointed him out to me a couple times," she stammers. By now, quite a few people have noticed what's going on, and have gathered around below and around us to watch the scene play out. "He said to look out for him and his cousin Benvolio, because they're always trying to get him into trouble."

Paris seems to accept that answer. He turns back to me; he looks ready to draw his sword on me at any moment. I take a few steps back but find myself trapped as I reach the edge of the balcony, almost stumbling over the edge before catching myself. Intermission is still going on, but this seems to be entertaining the masses far more than that sappy play was. Juliet stands back, clearly distressed but unable to do anything for lack of a weapon. I signal to her and she takes the chance to run down the steps off the balcony and out of the theatre.

How did I manage to end up in this situation again? Everything was going so well! I just had to go into this stupid theatre, didn't I? Well, no matter; there's a sword aimed at me and I have nowhere to run and no weapon of my own. Nobody else here seems too keen on tossing me anything to fight with, even though I don't doubt at least some of these people have one on them. It's funny: while in the past, I've managed to get wrapped up in two fights in a week's time, whereas up to this point I've only ever really taken part in a fight when I had absolutely no choice.

"Do you choose to back away?" Paris demands, adding, "I'd think it wise for you to choose so."

Not giving a damn if the spectators think I'm lame, I nod. "You've proven your might, County Paris," I tell him. "I surrender."

"A wise choice." He lowers his sword and sheathes it, twirling about and realizing that Juliet has left. "Juliet, my love, where have you run off to?!" he calls, running down the steps and out into the streets after her.

Now that Paris has left, I relax, letting out a long sigh of relief. I climb down from the balcony and take a seat among the penny-public once more just before intermission ends and the play starts up again. _I should tell Romeo about all that_ , I find myself thinking. I have to remind myself that I don't belong in this time, and that the version of me who does belong in this time doesn't know that Romeo and Juliet are together.

I have a feeling I'm going to have to do a lot more reminding myself of that, at least until Friar Laurence finishes making his reverse-effect potion.


	8. Revealed

After the play ends and everybody gets up to go, a few people come up to me as I’m trying to leave the theatre. Some of them seem impressed by my little confrontation with Paris, while others are less than thrilled with the way I threatened a noble. “Youth these days have no manners,” one old fellow grumbles. “Why, just last week a group of boys were harassing some poor nurse when she was just minding her own business. Disgraceful!”

I squirm a little; one of those boys was me. It’s not that I didn’t feel bad about doing it, but it was what everybody else was doing—including Mercutio. I couldn’t be expected to be the good little boy all the time, could I?

“I’m sorry, everyone, I’ve got to be going,” I mutter as I shove my way through the people who’ve gathered around me. “Please leave me alone.”

Not surprisingly, they don’t leave me alone. I pick up my pace a bit and push my way out of the theatre. “Not so fast!” somebody shouts after me, and before I know it people are chasing me. So much for trying to stay lowkey. It’s raining outside—just a little drizzle, really—and my hair gets wet and flops into my eyes as I run, doing my best to get as far away from those crazy people as possible.

Once I’m sure nobody can still be chasing me, I stop and lean up against the side of a building to catch my breath and push some hair out of my eyes. I hear somebody running up behind me and tense up for a second, but when I turn around I see none other than lady Juliet. Paris isn’t with her, so I relax and let her run up to me, where she leans up against the building to catch her breath before turning to me.

“Thank you for what you did in the theatre,” she says with a seriousness I wouldn’t have expected from any other girl her age. “To tell the truth, I don’t really want to marry Paris, but my parents are pretty set on the idea.”

“It was nothing,” I mumble, wondering what she thinks of me and if she knows how much I know about her relationship with my cousin.

Juliet twirls a lock of her dark brown hair. “You denied it earlier, but you’re dressed like a Montague, and I can see the resemblance between you and Romeo,” she states. “You are Benvolio, aren’t you? But why would you come to my aid?”

I gulp. What can I tell her? _“Well, you see, I actually come from five years in a future where you and Romeo are dead, and I travelled back in time by drinking a potion I thought was going to kill me, but instead it sent me to the day when the boy I’m in love with died so I saved him and now the timeline has been altered and since I am from the future and therefore know about you and Romeo I wanted to defend you”_? Somehow, I don’t think it would be wise to let her in on that.

“I didn’t recognize you as a Capulet,” I say instead. “If I had, I wouldn’t have helped you out.”

“And yet you still stand here talking with me like you would talk to an ally,” Juliet points out. “If your reasoning was as you said, would you not have stepped down as soon as you saw me for who I am? I am, after all, the only daughter of Lord Capulet; I’d like to think I’m fairly well-known.”

She’s got a point, I know, and I try to think of a believable explanation but I can’t. I know I can’t just run away—that would only attract more suspicion—and I obviously can’t tell her my whole story. But what if I only told her part of the truth?

“You said you saw me at that party your father threw?” I ask, and Juliet tenses up as soon as the words are out of my mouth. “Well, I saw you there too. You seemed to be getting quite friendly with Romeo, but I didn’t bring it up with him. I was drunk, you know? Maybe I’d seen things wrong.”

Despite how nervous Juliet looks, she’s trying to hide it, and she spares a remark back at me: “I thought I saw you as well, dancing with another man.”

“That’s got nothing to do with it!” I cry, flustered. Then, pulling myself together, I add, “Then again, one forbidden love deserves another, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Juliet insists. “I didn’t know your cousin was a Montague when I was talking to him. We stopped talking after I found out.”

“Then how do you know who I am?”

“I told you; he pointed you out at the ball,” Juliet snaps. “Or, if you think yourself to know something different, then stop playing games and tell me what it is!”

There; I’ve got her trapped. She’s very clever, but the one advantage I have over her is the truth: I already know with absolute certainty about her biggest secret, while she couldn’t possibly guess at mine. Outwitting a Capulet brings me the slightest bit of pride, but knowing that she’s only thirteen and was originally just trying to thank me makes this all feel very uncomfortable.

But I ignore the creeping unease I feel and speak on. “I know that you have been seeing my cousin,” I inform her. “I also know that you were recently married.”

Juliet draws in a sharp breath and doesn’t say anything for a long moment. I half wonder if she's going to burst into tears at the revelation of her secret—I'd understand it; she is just a girl, after all. Instead, she simply sighs. Then her eyes sharpen and she demands, “And what is your secret? I know you have one. I can see it in the way you hesitate before you speak.”

_What can I say?_ I think again. How much can I tell her without risking everything? Would she tell anybody if I told her the truth? I can't believe I'm even considering admitting this, but I feel the pressing need to tell somebody something.

Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—I don't need to tell her anything, because she's suddenly distracted by something behind me. Her eyes widen and she shoves me away. I stumble, confused at first until I look behind me and see County Paris approaching. He seems happy to see Juliet, and she pretends to be happy to see him too, although it's obvious to me that she really isn't. I wonder how Paris can be so gullible as to believe she wants anything to do with him. Maybe he's just seeing what he wants to see.

“There you are, my little flower,” the nobleman calls. He runs up to Juliet and wraps his arms around her, and she's so much smaller than him that his embrace lifts her off her feet. “Why did you run off like that?”

Juliet squirms down from his grip and points at me. “When that Montague brute showed up and started insulting you, I got so scared,” she tells him, batting her eyes. “After I ran out of the theatre, he chased me down and tried to hurt me!”

She really is a clever girl. Now I can truly see why Romeo likes her. But again, she's really not the type for me. Oh, I wish she was! How nice it would be to fall in love with someone so young and innocent yet clever and… female. But my idiot heart has been captured by someone who's the exact opposite of that, and it's a truth I've had to live with since I first realized it five years ago—just as it had become too late to pursue that love. Well, I remind myself yet again, I've made myself a second chance, and this time we will have our happy ending. And I should do everything in my power to make sure that Romeo gets one as well, even if my cousin can be an idiot sometimes.

Paris glares at me and I decide it would be wise not to stick around, so I turn around and run once more. I half-expect him to chase after me, but I suppose he decided I wasn't worth his time. That makes sense; who really cares about somebody as inconsequential as me? I'm just a nameless face out of millions, and a nobleman has better things to do when on a day out with his fiancée.

It's still raining out, so I stay close to the walls while I walk down the streets, fanning my hat in front of my face. It may be raining, but it's still hot out in a humid sort of way. I wonder if the young men's blood is as hot as it was this time last week. I suppose certain men have blood that never cools, and I've been hoping to avoid running into one such man for a while now. Up until now I've succeeded in avoiding him, but it seems as though my luck is about to run out.

I'm crouching under the awning of an abandoned, decrepit old building when I hear shouting coming from inside. My heart sinks when I recognize the voice. A moment later, the doors slam open and Tybalt Capulet bursts out of the crumbling building, yelling back at whoever's inside.

“I told you it will never happen again!” he shouts. “So just stop talking about it, okay?! I hate you! You hang out with those Montague filth all the time and you act like a moron and _I hate you_! You mean nothing to me!”

My heart stops for a minute. I know exactly who that description matches. But that can't be who he's talking to, right?

From inside the otherwise empty building, the voice that shouts back is one I know far too well for my heart's own good. “You don't need to tell me that, cat-boy!” Mercutio jeers. “Why, the last time I checked, you were the one who broke things off because you saw my hand brush against Romeo's for a split-second and now you're the one who's single and bitter.”

I can't comprehend any of what I'm hearing. The two of them were… together… at some point? An image pops into my head: Tybalt, his blade hovering at Mercutio's throat, leaning in to whisper something in his ear… I shiver. I didn't think too hard about it at the time; I was too busy thinking about saving the boy I care about—the boy I love. But that boy had a lover before me who I never even knew about.

Well, at least they clearly aren't together anymore. “I'd have myself a lover by now if I chose to,” Tybalt snarls. “And she'd be a woman. You may have tricked me into joining your sinful lifestyle briefly, but it will never happen again.”

“I hope you have fun living a lie the rest of your life, you pathetic rat-catcher,” Mercutio mutters, appearing at the door and leaning in towards Tybalt, who takes a step back, reaching for his sword but not unsheathing it—a rare sight from him. “Meanwhile, I'll have fun with my male best friend, who is not attracted to me, and I respect and understand that. It's just a pity you couldn't,” he adds quietly, and walks down the crumbling steps to the old building.

I want to run after him. But I can't. I can't let him know who I am. He didn't even notice me here, and I don't want to give myself away. Instead, I close my eyes and bring my hands up to my face, expecting to cry. But I don't. I simply sit there, breathing in and out, not sure what to think of Mercutio neglecting to mention me at all when talking about how he was going to spend the rest of his life.

As it turns out, I don't have to run after him. He starts to walk away, but then he notices me sitting there and walks over. I flinch at the sound of his shoes scuffing the dirt roads, lacing my fingers over my face.

Mercutio squats down next to me and tugs at a dandelion growing out of a crack in the broken-down old building. “Pretty stupid flower, huh?” he mutters, picking away the dandelion's leaves one by one. “This building is nothing but a ruin, while just across the street there’s a garden where all manner of plants can flourish. But does it choose to grow there? No, this flower insists on living in the shadows of this cracked and crumbling building—therefore ruining itself.”

_Ruining itself_. It's a dumb joke; the only kind I've come to expect from him. I smile slightly, lowering my hands away from my face and forgetting that my face is five years older than it should be by his account. He stares at the yellow flower in his hands for a moment, rolling the stem back and forth between his palms, but when he glances over at me I can tell that he recognizes me instantly. He breaks into a grin initially, but it's tinted with confusion and a hint of nervousness.

“O-oh, it's you. Didn't recognize you with your hands covering your beautiful face,” he says, reaching over to ruffle my hair. He runs his fingers through it and for a second the confusion and nervousness is gone from his face. Then he pulls his fingers out and it returns. “You're not supposed to be here.”

I want to look away from his piercing eyes. They stare at me so intently that I can't help but keep looking. “I'm here anyway,” I mumble.

“Yeah, that's kind of the problem,” Mercutio sighs. “So then—tell all, Benvolio. How much did you overhear?”

I don't know how to reply. I didn't hear the whole thing. But I think I heard enough. So that's what I say, quietly enough that I'm not sure he heard at first until he lets out an even longer sigh and slowly gets up to leave.

I don't want him to leave just yet. I want him to stay here and talk to me. I want him to tell me everything that happened, and then I want him to tell me it's all in the past and that he's all mine now. I want him to tell me he loves me, and I want to tell him the same. But the longer he spends next to me, the more likely it is that he'll notice I'm five years older, and I can't risk him finding out.

Mercutio is walking slowly away from me when a voice rings out from down the street that makes my blood turn to ice. It's funny how chilling my own voice has been to me lately.

“Oh, Mercutio, thank God you're all right,” the past version of me cries. “I just saw Tybalt, and when he walked by he didn't say anything to me—he just glowered at me! I was worried he might have…”

He stops when he sees me. Sees himself. Mercutio has frozen dead in his tracks. He stares at one version of me, and then slowly turns his head to stare at the other. Back and forth, back and forth, from one Benvolio to the other.

My secret is out.


	9. Retrospect

There's no use in pretending. They can see who I am, and they deserve an explanation. So I guide them into the abandoned building so we can have some privacy and I tell them.

I tell them everything.

I start by telling them where—or rather, when—I'm from. "That's impossible," my past self blurts as soon as the words are out of my mouth—always the logical one. But the more I say, the more he begins to believe my story, even if he can't believe he believes it.

I tell them about how I got here, neglecting to mention that I didn't know what the potion would do at first. There's no need for them to know I assumed it was poison, and that I drank it anyway in hopes of dying. They don't need to know how dark a time it was for me. That's all in the past now—or rather, in a version of the future that no longer exists.

But since they need to know the truth, I tell them about that version of events. I tell them that I was the stranger in the black robe, and that in the timeline where I didn't intervene, Mercutio was killed. When I say this, he grows silent. He was cracking jokes throughout the rest of my story, but I'm glad he stops there, because I want him to realize just how much that meant to me in my timeline.

I tell them about the star-crossed lovers, and how by this point in my timeline six people had died. I don't tell them much about my life after all of that. They don't want or need to hear about it. By the time I'm finished my story, the other me is white in the face, and it looks like he's trying not to cry.

"I-is that all really true?" he whispers. "Did all of that really happen?"

I nod, and it pains me to do so. He doesn't deserve it. I didn't deserve it. But it happened to me, and it didn't happen to him. I guess in that way we're really not the same person anymore.

"Then all that stuff about Romeo…" The other me pauses before continuing, "…Is that all happening right now? I mean, with Juliet?"

I nod again.

"…And you changed it." If it weren't my own voice I was listening to, I might not have been able to tell that he's saying it to himself as much as to me; a reassurance that all those horrible things I talked about won't happen in his reality. "People aren't going to die. At least not…"

He trails off, staring at my face. I know he can see the dark circles under my eyes from so many sleepless nights, and I hope he doesn't guess at how many times I never wanted to wake up at all.

And when I finally can't bring myself to look back at my own devastated face, I wrench my gaze away from him and it falls on Mercutio, who's remained silent since the part about his death in the other timeline. He can tell that the other me is distraught, but his face betrays nothing about his own feelings about my story.

The other me slumps down and holds his head in his hands. Mercutio leans over and lifts his curly bangs out of his face. "It's okay, Ben," he murmurs. "You heard the guy. None of that's gonna happen anymore."

"But it did in his—in _that version of my_ reality," the other me sniffles, jabbing a finger at me. "There was a version of me that lost you, and there was a version of you that died. Doesn't that bother you at all?"

"Eh, not really. After all, it was only me." Mercutio tilts the other me's chin up toward him and makes a goofy face. "If I died, I know I wouldn't miss me."

"That's not funny, Merc!" The other me pushes him away, glaring. "Just look at what happened to that… that _other me_ from that awful future! Would you have that happen to me all over again?!"

I wonder if I should feel insulted at being used as an example: look at this poor future Benvolio; I sure don't want to end up like him! But I can't be offended because it's true; this past me shouldn't end up the same way. That's why I chose to meddle with past events, and that's why I'm here now with my past self and the boy who would already be gone in my timeline sitting across from me.

"What, would you rather me be selfish and assume all those bags under his eyes and all that unkempt hair are on account of me?" Mercutio challenges the other me. "In case you forgot, he said that five other people died in his timeline too. I just happened to be the catalyst."

"It's true in a way; losing Romeo was devastating," I mumble, not realizing I'm speaking aloud until I notice Mercutio and the other me staring at me. "But that first loss did damage on my heart all on its own."

_They don't need to hear this_. They don't need to know about the timeline that I have rescued them from. But after five years, I need to talk about it.

"He pretended to be fine at first," I continue—talking about Mercutio, of course. Then I direct my words to him: "You… joked about it. I was horrified. I dragged you into the closest shelter I could find and told you it was going to be okay. It wasn't."

I stop, unable to put into words what I was feeling in that moment. The other me stands up and walks over to me. Suddenly I'm being hugged by myself and both versions of me are crying. "None of that will happen in this timeline," one of us murmurs, and I'm not sure which one it is.

I stand in the broken-down building for some time, comforting and being comforted by the past self that I've saved from the future that awaited me when I was him. Perhaps for the first time I fully accept just how damaged I am. It doesn't matter if I've prevented it from ever happening; all the things I lived through remain in my memories, as do the scars they left.

After an indeterminable amount of time, the silence is broken when Mercutio stands up, clears his throat, and announces rather loudly, "I guess I'll just be going, then."

The other me breaks away and rushes over to grab his wrist. "Merc, we need to talk," he says, pulling him out of the building and sending me a meaningful look. I hover back while the relics from my past sit on the steps of the abandoned building. I can't hear what they say, and I know I shouldn't try to listen in, so I climb out through a window and walk around the back of the building.

There. I've done it. I've told my tragic story, and now… well, I don't know what will happen now. I suppose as soon as I get the potion that will return me to the future, everything will fall into place. I'll take it and wake up five years later in a better reality. Maybe the houses will still be warring, and maybe not everybody will be as happy as I'd like to think they'll be. But as long as the people I love are alive and with me, I'll gladly live in that future.

A few minutes later, my past self approaches me. Mercutio isn't with him, but he must still be nearby, because the other me is smiling.

"Thank you," he whispers. "No offense, but I wouldn't very much like to become you."

I laugh coldly. "I don't think anyone would like to become me," I tell him. "Not this version of me, anyway."

I look into the eyes that were once my own and see a brightness that has been long lost from mine. This act of travelling back in time may be bizarre, but it's helped me accomplish something I could never have done ordinarily.

"Please don't tell Romeo about any of this," I advise the other me. "You know what that cousin of mine—yours—ours?" I hesitate; pronouns are difficult in situations like this. "In any case, you know what he's like. He probably wouldn't take it well."

The other me nods.

"Hey, Benny, are you about done talking to that guy?" Mercutio calls from around the other side of the building. The other me hesitates, and I give him an encouraging nod.

"Thank you again," he whispers before running off.

From around the side of the building, I can hear Mercutio teasing the other me. "I tell you, Ben, I always knew you were crazy," he’s saying, "but I never thought I'd catch you talking to yourself."

The other me makes some comeback I can't quite make out. I smile at the knowledge that they—that we—will never change. As soon as I get that potion, I know I'll have a bright future with him to look forward to.


	10. Relapse

A few more days pass with no major events. I try to fill my time with menial activities so I'm not constantly thinking about that reverse-effect potion, but it keeps creeping back into my mind. It has to be done soon, right? Laurence has certainly been out of town long enough to gather all the herbs he'd need. That's what I assume, at least, but although I've studied up on a few types of medicinal plants, I'd never seen some of the plants that were in the original recipe before. Maybe they only grow overseas. If it took five years to concoct the first one, how long will it take to craft something with the reverse effect?

Early in the morning on a cloudy day—one of those days that feels like it could rain at any second but never does—I get my answer.

I've just woken up from another nightmare—always the same, the same blood and tears and pain that didn't even happen anymore but still haunt my dreams—and I'm trying very hard to wash it out of my mind. I do so by heading over to the fountain in the town square and splashing my face with some cold water. There's a passed-out drunkard slumped a few feet away from me, but I do my best to ignore them. It's not my job to keep everyone in the city in perfect order. Maybe once I thought it was, but I learned the hard way that I can't control what everybody does all the time.

As I'm wiping off my face with my sleeve, I hear the clipping of a horse's hooves. Somebody must be coming into town. I look up to see who it is and am pleasantly surprised to recognize Friar Laurence. He's carrying a large bag over his shoulder that has plants spilling out of the top despite how tightly the drawstrings are pulled and I hope none of the essential herbs for the potion have fallen out on his trip.

I wave to him. "Welcome back, Friar!" I call.

He brings his horse to a halt and smiles at me, slowly lowering himself off the horse's back and wincing a little as he does so. "Good to see you again, Benvolio," he says. Then he rubs his neck and mutters, "I should really stop running around so much. I'm getting too old for riding on horseback."

"I'll help you with your sack," I offer, reaching for his bag of plants. It's fairly heavy; I'm impressed that he managed to carry it by himself. "Do you want to head back to the church to do this, or…?"

"That sounds like a good idea," Friar Laurence agrees. "We don't want anyone to see somebody disappearing into thin air after drinking this potion."

He interrogates me a bit about whether I stayed inconspicuous enough while he was gone, and I tell him the truth—even when I kind of want to lie. I can't help but feel like he's judging me when I admit to telling my past self about the future I saved him from.

"I didn't have a choice," I explain. "Mercutio saw me, and he saw the other me, and… there was no way to explain it! Besides, didn't they deserve the truth?"

"You should have avoided being seen in the first place," Laurence warns. "I know you have feelings for Mercutio—"

"That's irrelevant," I blurt, and Laurence gives me a look that makes me shut up right away. "Sorry," I mumble. "I just… don't really want to talk about my feelings right now. Once I drink this potion of yours, I'll have plenty of time in my new future to work things out between us."

Friar Laurence nods, dropping the subject. "As I was going to say," he continues a few seconds later, "you really do need to be careful about this, Benvolio. How can you guarantee that he won’t tell others about you—like Romeo, for instance? How do you think he would react to the knowledge that in another timeline, his relationship with Juliet ended up with them both dying?"

I stare down at my feet. The friar has a point. If either Mercutio or the other me tells Romeo about my version of events, who knows what that overdramatic cousin of mine would do? Maybe he'd break things off with Juliet—not a bad decision, to be honest—but knowing him, he might do something drastic, like kill himself as he did in my timeline. Needless to say, I don't want that. It would make my whole trip back in time at least partially pointless.

"While your advice is appreciated, Friar, it won't be useful after today," I say after a few minutes of uncomfortable thoughts that I don't care to delve into. "I'm not going to be trapped in the past any longer. As soon as we take all these plants you gathered and turn them into a potion, I won't have to worry about lying low anymore."

Once we arrive at the church, which aside from one or two other friars is empty, we head into the back room with the cot that I woke up in when I first found myself five years in the past. It's fitting that I'll be sending myself forward in time in the very same room.

"Just wait in here for a few minutes while I turn these herbs into a potion," Laurence instructs me, leaving the room with the bag of plants. "I'll come back in and fetch you when it’s time to drink it."

I nod and wait for the potion to be ready.

*

It hardly takes the "few minutes" that Friar Laurence promised; I wait in that back room of the church for several hours before the potion is prepared. But I fill the time with my sheer excitement. What will I find when I drink that concoction? I suppose I'll wake up as whom my past self—who now knows about this me—would have grown into—or will grow into. Will I have his memories? What will my life be like five years in a different future? Will Romeo and Juliet still be together, or will my cousin have moved on to yet another girl?

What form will my relationship with Mercutio have taken in this future?

I have so many questions, and I'm finally about to get my answers. I sit on the cot kicking my feet like a child—like when I was sitting on the dock in that horrible dream—until finally, finally, Friar Laurence comes in.

As soon as he says, "I've finished the potion," I shoot off the cot and practically wrench the vial from his hands. My hands tremble as I gaze at the swirling dark green liquid. There's no cap, and a little bit of the substance splashes out of the top and lands on my hand. It feels warmer than I expected.

I lift the vial to my lips and suck back as much of the potion as I can in one sip. It tastes absolutely disgusting, but I force it down because of how important this drink is to me. The taste doesn't matter when the effect is considered.

The liquid makes my tongue go so numb after a few seconds that I can no longer sense the bitter taste. The inside of my mouth is filled with a buzzing sensation, as if I just swallowed a beehive. When I gulp down the last drops, my throat is left feeling like it's on fire.

And I feel amazing.

I lower the now-empty vial away from my mouth and wipe away a few residual specks of the substance with a shaking arm. It's really happening. I'm finally getting out of the past!

Or am I?

I wait a few seconds, and then a few seconds more. I'm a bit dizzy, as I was when I drank the back-in-time potion, but maybe this time it's just from my excitement, because nothing around me is changing. I shut my eyes and pray that when I open them, my surroundings will look somewhat different. But they don't.

Friar Laurence scratches his head in confusion. "That's odd," he mutters. "It should have taken effect by now. Are you sure you drank it all?"

I nod, my mouth still too numb to speak, and show him the empty bottle. He takes it and looks at me in silence, a deeply apologetic look on his face. I feel like crying, but there seems to be no point. It won't do me any good to cry—to be like Romeo, who in my place would surely be attempting to stab himself by now. I couldn't do that even if I wanted to; I still don't have any weapon on me.

Not that I'd want to. There's something for me to live for now, surely, even if there wasn't before. But looking at that empty vial, knowing I've drank that potion I lived in anticipation of for a week, only to find that it doesn't work… for the first time since I've gone back in time, I feel just as empty as the vial.

Laurence must be able to tell how defeated I feel, because he pats me on the back and gives me reassurances I know are meaningless. "Well, this was only the first attempt," he tells me. "Give me a while longer and I may be able to concoct a better version of this potion."

It's tempting to go along with the offer, but something about the way he says it tells me it isn't true. If he couldn't use the right combination of ingredients the first time, how is he supposed to do it the second time? Even if he does eventually figure it out, I'd rather not constantly be looking forward to the next attempt at the potion being created only to be let down repeatedly.

I don't want to seem rude, though, so I nod. "I'd like it if you'd do that," I murmur.

Laurence shuffles out of the back room and I sit on the cot for a while, staring at the red velvet curtain. A light breeze blows through the church—that's what happens when the door is always left open—and the curtain flaps about in the wind. I move my tongue around the inside of my mouth and wonder when the universe will be done doing these things to me.


	11. Rematch

I don't know how long I sit on that cot feeling defeated. The longer I sit, the more I feel stupid for sitting there feeling sorry for myself, but I can't help but let my emotions show through sometimes. It's interesting in a way—for five years I tried so hard and failed to move on from everything, but now that I've prevented it all from happening in the first place the recovery is finally beginning.

Just as I'm about to get up and leave, I hear something going on on the other side of the curtain. Curious, I stand beside the fluttering fabric and listen, less surprised than I would have been this time a week or so ago to hear my own voice. It sounds like he's talking to Friar Laurence about something.

"Um, I know this sounds like kind of a weird question," the other me is saying, "but have you seen… me… lately? Like, did he—I—come to the church at all?"

"If you're talking about who I think you're talking about, I saw him very recently," Laurence replies. "He's just in this back room, in fact. At least, he should still be there…"

He shuffles over to peek behind the curtain and I jump back, pressing my back to the wall, before remembering that the other me knows everything already and there's no reason to hide from him. I step out, giving the other me an awkward wave, which he returns with equal awkwardness.

Friar Laurence gives us a stiff nod. "I suppose I'll leave you two alone," he mutters. "Benvolio—er, either of you—just call me if you need any help."

"Thanks, Friar," I say before turning to the other me. I guide him to the cot and sit down next to him. "So," I ask, keeping my voice low, "why did you seek me out?"

"Do you remember how you told me and Mercutio about your own timeline?" the other me begins. "And how you went back in time so you could save Mercutio, among others?"

I nod; how could I forget about something I experienced myself?

"Well, it looks like you're going to have to do that again," the other me says quietly, and for the first time I see the fear in his wide brown eyes. "Mercutio just challenged Tybalt to a rematch this time tomorrow! I've tried to talk him out of it, but he's really dead set on defeating him without any help this time. I think—" the other me drops his gaze to the floor. "I think there's something personal between them. Something I don't know about."

I remember Tybalt storming out of an abandoned building, screaming about Mercutio "seducing him into his sinful lifestyle" but that it would never happen again. I remember all that obvious bitterness and can't help but shudder because this me knows something that my past self still doesn't about the boy I love.

But now's not the time to tell him that. "We’ve got to prevent him from doing that," I say instead. "I haven't trapped myself five years in the past just to lose him all over again. Can't you try again to talk sense into him?"

"I tried, but he just laughed it off and said he was sure he'd do fine," the other me mutters. "I don't understand it! He _knows_ what happened to him in your timeline! So why does he still want to do this?!"

I stare at my feet, not sure what to tell him. If Mercutio wants to face off against Tybalt so badly, who am I to stop him? In the original timeline, he thought Romeo would help him out in his duel. So then why challenge the person he knows killed in him that timeline, without expecting anyone’s help this time? Is he just trying to get my attention? Or…

No. That would be absurd. Surely Mercutio—the boy who takes the world the least seriously out of anyone I've ever met—doesn't _want_ to die, or even risk dying to prove a point. Couldn’t he see while I was telling him my story how much it hurt me to lose him in my timeline? How can he be so selfish? I slam my fist against the wall, letting out a shout of frustration over being in love with somebody so… the way he is.

"What should we do?" the other me asks quietly, although at this point I doubt he really thinks I'll have an answer for him. "We can't let him do it."

"Maybe you can talk him out of it," I mumble. "Just give it another try. You've got nothing to lose, right?"

The other me nods, but in this case both versions of me know it won't work. I sigh. I suppose I'll just have to save that boy again.

*

After a few minutes of hopelessness, we finally figure out a plan. This time tomorrow, both versions of me will head down to where Mercutio and Tybalt will have their rematch. The other me will bring Romeo with him, and provoke him and Tybalt into attacking each other, therefore tiring Tybalt out a bit before his duel so Mercutio can win more easily. This version of me will watch the whole thing to make sure nothing goes wrong, and to pull Romeo out so he doesn't get hurt in Tybalt's little "warm-up".

It's a brilliant plan, if I can say so myself, and I feel so confident in it that I almost forget about that failed potion. I only remember it as I'm curling up to sleep that night—staying inside the church so I don't have to sleep out on the streets again, which I had almost gotten used to but still isn’t pleasant. As I stare up at the ceiling of a building that no longer exists in the time I'm from—like so many other things, and people too—it hits me, and not for the first time, that I'm stuck here—or rather, now—forever. Well, maybe it won't be forever. Maybe Friar Laurence will be able to make a potion that will send me into the future again, and this time it will work. But I don't want to pin my hopes on such a thing, so for now it’s best that I think of myself as being trapped in the past permanently.

As I drift into another night of sleep, I hope that I won't be met with any more nightmares.

*

_It's late at night, and all the festivities are finally winding down. A few people are still dancing inside, but they're dancing to silence and a few drunken songs sung by servants; the last song of the evening played nearly an hour ago. It may be a summer night, but it's colder than usual tonight, and the alcohol in my body is only providing a false warmth._

_It feels warm enough, though—warm enough for me to resist falling into the arms of the boy standing beside me and enveloping myself in his body heat. The only reason I'm even getting that urge in the first place is because I'm intoxicated, so it wouldn't be right for me to get that physically close to him at a time like this._

_I shake my head; what am I thinking?! That dance was a mistake. The whole ball was a mistake. Trying to make Romeo get over Rosaline was clearly a mistake, because it looks like now he has gotten over her. He's gotten over her so completely that he kissed a girl from a house that hates our house._

_Maybe I saw wrong. I was drunk. I was tired. I was dancing with the person—the_ boy _—I swore I wouldn`t let myself start liking in this way. But maybe it didn`t just start recently. Maybe I`ve been in love with Mercutio ever since I met him without even realizing it._

_I shake my head again. That slow dance was wrong. The touching of our lips? Wronger still. I won`t let it happen again, I tell myself as I tug at his sleeve and murmur something not even I can quite make out._

_It's cold, we decide. Romeo's obviously not coming. May as well go home…_

_I cling to Mercutio's sleeve, smiling at every witty remark he makes as we trudge through the mostly empty streets of Verona. We stick close to the walls just in case there are some Capulets hanging around looking to start a fight, but luckily we don't run into anyone._

_Despite the fact that I know better than to do so, I whisper, "I'm glad you're here" just loud enough for Mercutio to hear._

_He runs his fingers through my hair and replies after a while: "y'know, Benvolio, I don't think your cousin Romeo appreciates you as much as he should."_

_"What do you mean?" I mumble. "Romeo talks to me all the time. He appishrates- appreshes- appreciates me." I silently curse my drunken tongue when Mercutio chuckles at my struggle to say the word "appreciates"._

_Rather than clarifying on what he means by saying Romeo doesn't fully appreciate me, Mercutio changes the subject entirely. "I've been thinking about why a person's chest is called a chest," he begins, probably trying to tap my chest but his finger lands closer to my stomach. "It's cuz it's like a treasure chest… because your heart is a treasure, Ben."_

_Despite my lingering curiosity about just what his previous comment meant, my face heats up at his compliment. "That's an interesting theory," I say, trying to push my aforementioned heart back out of my throat and into my chest where it belongs. "I think the same could apply to you," I add despite it being a very bad idea. "Can I have yours?"_

_"Sorry, my little pirate," Mercutio mutters. "This treasure is buried deep within sands of worthlessness, and it's not worth all the digging."_

_"Don't say that!" I gasp, grabbing his arm. He takes a stumbling step back and we bump up against the wall of a building we're walking past. "You're perfect and beautiful and I love you, you idiot!"_

_Mercutio doesn't react in any way for a moment that feels like an eternity. During that time, I clamp my hand over my mouth, horrified by my own words. I can't love a boy! It's what I've been told so many times—by my parents, my aunt and uncle, and even by Romeo once when we were young and I confessed to finding a friend of his cute. Hot shame burns beneath my cheeks, but it's not as strong as the emotion that spreads over them._

_Finally, after far too long for my liking, Mercutio's face bursts into a smile. He grabs me as flips us around so he's the one pressed to the wall and I can't believe this is happening but it's too late now because I love him, however wrong it may be._

*

I wake up smiling for the first time in a long time. For once the dream didn't end with a sword puncturing the beautiful boy I was kissing. It's strange: I have a lot of dreams about that night, but most of the things I dream about didn't really happen. We didn't really have that discussion, for one thing. And we certainly didn't kiss again. And I definitely didn't tell him I love him. But it always appears so crystal-clear in my dreams that sometimes I wonder if it actually did happen, and I've just forgotten it in my waking moments because I was drunk at the time.

Real or not, it was a good dream. I smile as I think about it, nearly forgetting about what's going to be happening today, and the plan I made last night…


	12. Revisiting

The plan we had worked out should have gone flawlessly. It was so simple, yet made so much sense. The only problem was one that neither version of me factored in. Maybe it was wishful thinking to assume we could count on Romeo.

I almost couldn't believe it when the other me came running up to me as I was edging along toward the town square.

"What do you mean you can't find him?" I demanded. "He's your cousin; you should know where he is!"

"I'm sorry," the other me sighed. "I've looked all over for him, and nobody seems to know where he is. Even Lord and Lady Montague don't know."

That was definitely a hitch in the plan. But maybe it can still work, we told each other. We just have to find someone different. Now, as I search around for somebody willing to distract Tybalt so he can wear himself out, I'm beginning to feel less and less sure.

The sun is climbing higher in the sky, bringing about the most sweltering heat I've felt since that one day—the day I travelled back in time to and changed the outcome of. It's fitting that the heat today would match it—today's the day that just might make all that worthless if I fail. Luckily, the rematch duel isn't scheduled until late afternoon, so I have plenty of time to find another candidate—or, I suppose, look for Romeo.

I have a sneaking suspicion I know where he is, or at least who he's with. Since going back in time, I've gotten used to staying undercover and keeping my face hidden, so I should be able to sneak around the Capulet household without being noticed. I'd say it's worth the risk, and I think I still know the way, so I walk along the streets until I come to a line of apple trees and a long fence.

Holding my hat over my face, I climb over the fence and creep around the back of the household—the mansion, really. It's a lot bigger and fancier than the Montague household, and when I saw it when we were all crashing that party, I was more than impressed by the size. In my timeline, the warring families started to get along better after the tragedy, so I was over here a few more times since then, and every time it impressed me. It impresses me even now, but I have something else to concentrate on today.

Nobody seems to be in the orchard—which provides some more-than-welcome shade from the blazing sun—today, or out on the balcony. It would be nice to have a balcony that overlooks an orchard, because you could climb down one of the trees and… pick some apples, I guess. Okay, maybe it wouldn't be that great in reality. But nobody can help but be jealous of somebody who has a nicer house than them.

Ivy crawls up the white walls of the building. I run my fingers along it, wondering if my cousin climbed this ivy when he visited Juliet. I wonder if he's visiting her right now. I suppose there's only one way to find out.

There's a tall apple tree growing not too far from the house. I hoist myself up onto a low branch, wobbling a bit but not falling, and grab the next branch. As I step off the lowest branch, it springs a bit, shaking free an apple with a thin stem. The overripe fruit falls to the ground and splatters; the sound makes me want to gag.

"What was that noise?" somebody says from inside, and I freeze, ducking behind a clump of leaves. A door rattles—or maybe it's a window—and a moment later, somebody steps out onto the balcony. "I-is somebody there?!"

I breathe a sigh of relief when I recognize Juliet. I haven't told her that I'm from the future, but she does know one of my secrets—which is that I know hers. That doesn't mean she'll be too pleased that I've come into her orchard, though, so I stay hidden. My hat starts to slip from my head and I try to grab it but it tumbles off, snagging on the lowest branch.

Juliet leans over the balcony railing. "Who's there?" she demands. "Is this somebody playing a trick on me? Nurse, I swear to God if this is you…"

Another voice calls from inside, too muffled to make out but in a pitch and tone and cadence I recognize as just the person I was looking for. So, Romeo is here again after all. I'm not exactly happy about that, but I can't say I didn't guess.

I stay still behind the clump of leaves. Maybe if I don't make any more noise she'll think she was just imagining it. Hopefully she doesn't notice the hat. I could reach down and grab it, but Juliet would certainly see the movement.

Romeo calls again, and this time he must be standing closer to the door because I can hear what he's saying: "Jules, don't worry about it. Apples fall all the time, right? It's probably just the wind."

"Maybe you're right," Juliet mutters. I relax for a moment, but then she adds, "I still want to check it out, though, just to make sure. We can't risk having somebody see us."

She hops over the edge of the balcony and Romeo gasps even though she lands safely on the highest sturdy branch of an apple tree—the same apple tree I'm in. The impact of her foot on the branch makes two more apples fall, and one of them whizzes by a centimetre from my face. I almost scream, but stop myself.

"It's not worth it," Romeo mutters, standing in the doorway now. "I'd hate to see you fall and hurt yourself only to find that there was never anyone there at all."

"Better to take that risk than to not check, and to find someone there, now knowing about the two of us," Juliet retorts. "How kindly do you think your parents would take that news?" She lowers herself down a few more branches, and suddenly I can see her feet through the foliage when I look up. She’s standing on the branch right above the one I'm crouching on.

She jumps down the rest of the way to the ground, marches around to the back of the tree, and pushes some leaves aside. All the while, I tense up, squeezing my eyes shut as though if I can't see her, she won't be able to see me. Of course, that's not how things work, and the rustling of leaves is followed by a short gasp.

"What is it?!" Romeo demands, running up and leaning against the balcony rail. "Did you find somebody?"

Juliet doesn't respond at first. I slowly turn around to face her, gulping at the strange mix of terror and terrifying in her eyes. "You again," she breathes. "Why have you come to spy on us?"

I don't answer. I can't answer. The real answer in its entirety is far too long and complicated and highly implausible for her to believe it. But Tybalt wanting a rematch with Mercutio—although it's technically the other way around, but thinking of that fact makes me uncomfortable—and me wanting Romeo to help me out? That's something I can explain to them. I don't need to tell them about the whole time travel thing.

"Who'd you find?" Romeo repeats, leaning over the railing as far as he can and almost falling. "Whoa," he mutters when he catches himself. "They should make this railing higher."

"Get down from that tree," Juliet tells me, her voice flat but commanding. I comply, and I hear Romeo sputter in shock and confusion as soon as I turn around.

"B-Benvolio?! What the hell, cuz? How'd you find out about this?" He shakes his head and jumps over the rail, shimmying down the apple tree with slightly less grace than Juliet. "You know what; I don't need to know how you found out. I just need to know what you think you're doing."

They've more or less got me cornered. I sigh, wondering if it's okay for me to grab my hat now. "Okay, I'll tell you," I say. "But it's a long story, so we should probably head inside first."

*

I can't tell them the whole story, of course. They'd never believe me. But I give Romeo the same story I gave Juliet when she approached me before, with a little more detail this time. I say that I saw them together at the party, and then that Mercutio and I saw them afterwards talking about getting married. We didn't actually see them, of course, but telling them otherwise would mean confessing that I was from an alternate timeline where both of them are dead.

Then I go on to explain how after their first fight was interrupted—I conveniently leave out the detail about how I was actually the interrupter—Tybalt and Mercutio want to have a rematch this evening. I also leave out the part about them being bitter ex-lovers. I don't know how Romeo would feel knowing that about his best friend. I explain how I want Romeo to help by tiring out Tybalt before the match, so he'll be easier for Mercutio to defeat.

Once I've said all that—all that I feel I can afford to say to these people—Romeo seems doubtful, and still upset that I was spying on him. Oddly enough, I can't help but be a bit glad he's upset with me, because his irritation distracts him from noticing that I'm five years older than I should be.

"So you want me to help you out," he grumbles. "And you expect me to do that after you've _spied_ on me? Not to mention that you knew about me and Juliet the whole time and didn't say anything about it!"

"Well, it's better than if he _had_ told somebody," Juliet points out. "I know he's your cousin, but that kinship never stopped Tybalt and me from tattling on each other."

She catches my eyes and smiles slightly, and I wonder if this is her way of repaying me for defending her when Paris was harassing her. I smile back before turning my attention back to Romeo, who's still scowling at me.

"Why do I have to help, anyway?" he demands. "I've known Mercutio my whole life—and so have you, so you should know just as well as I do that he can handle Tybalt all on his own!"

"He wasn't handling him too well the last time they fought," I argue, knowing full well I can't fully convince him unless I tell him the whole truth—which I can't do. "Who knows what would have happened if that stranger in the cloak hadn't shown up?"

I know exactly what would have happened, but again, I can't tell them. I wait for either of them to respond; Juliet chews nervously on her fingernails and I'm reminded of just how young she is. Romeo looks at me intently, and I shrink back, hoping he won't notice what it's a miracle he hasn't noticed already. But from the dawning puzzlement in his wide eyes, I think he's just noticed it.

"Say, Benvolio, did you have a rough night or something?" he asks, gesturing at his own face as if to point out how mine is different from the last time he saw it. "You've got, like, bags under your eyes. And your forehead is way more creased. And how'd your hair get so long?"

I shrug, unable to give him any explanation other than the truth.

But Romeo isn't accepting my shrug as an answer, and I can't blame him. If I were him, I'd be just as confused. "Oh my God, do you have _stubble_?" Romeo actually _laughs_ , like it's that unbelievable. "When did you get so… rugged, cuz? Are you trying to impress some lady?"

Well, that's one answer my cousin is willing to believe, even though it wouldn't explain how my hair could grow so fast. It's funny how people will ignore the truth, coming up with far less explanatory "explanations" instead, if they don't think the truth to be possible.

"Actually, I am trying to impress someone," I say, going along with it. "They say they like this look better than the one I had before—too squeaky-clean. What do you think?"

"Whoa, who is it?" Romeo asks, ignoring my question—which is just as well, since it's just a cover story, but still a bit insulting. "Is it anyone I know?"

_Well, I do have a crush on someone you know,_ I think but don't dare say aloud. _It's someone we both know very well, in fact._

"I don't think so," I say instead. "She actually lives over in Mantua. She came here with her family a couple months ago for a few weeks and I met her then."

I study Romeo's face to see if he believes me, and from the lopsided grin on his face I can assume he does. "That's so sweet," he says, leaning over to ruffle my hair a bit. "Aw, man, you've gotta meet up with her again. If you're willing to change your look for her, you can't let it go to waste like this."

"R-right," I mutter, hoping to steer the conversation away from my nonexistent female crush. "But, um, back to Mercutio—"

"Oh, don't worry about him," Romeo insists. "He'll be fine! I mean, weren't you just going on and on about how great he is a few days ago?"

Was my past self really going on and on to Romeo like that? I blush a bit, keeping my eyes just a centimetre or two away from Romeo's searching gaze. Since he bought that story about wanting to impress some girl, I hope he won't suspect that my feelings for Mercutio could be anything but platonic—but if he does, I'm almost more scared about what he'll think about that than I am about him learning I'm from the future.

Romeo turns to Juliet. "You should have seen him," he tells her, pointing at me. "Ben here just would not shut up about him! All I did was mention that he'd said he looked cute the other day, and suddenly it was 'Mercutio really thinks I look cute?!' and 'but how did he say it? I need to know how he said it!' and 'ummm… if it's not too much to ask, could you… tell him he's cute too? No I take it back don't tell him I said that!' It was embarrassing." His impression of my voice is horrible, but Juliet seems entertained by it, and I guess that's enough for him.

"Hey," I remind him, "I'm not the one who fell in love at first sight and decided to get married the next day."

Juliet prods Romeo in the side. "He's got a point, you know," she murmurs. When Romeo looks offended, she leans up to give him a kiss on the forehead. "Aw, darling, I don't mean it."

I did mean it, but I guess I shouldn't get in the way of love. They seem to make each other happy, and that's good enough on my account. When my cousin was dead I hated him for falling in love so recklessly, but now that I see him here alive with Juliet I can't blame him for a thing. It's no more rational than my own ill-advised feelings for Mercutio.

However, it's clear that I'm not going to convince Romeo to help out this afternoon, and a quick glance outside sends alarms spiking through my system. It's already well past noon! Getting to my feet and staggering over to the balcony, I mount myself on the railing and prepare to jump down. "The rematch duel is going to happen soon," I warn the lovers. "It's in the town square like last time, so don't hesitate to show up if you change your minds."

Romeo nods from the doorway, but somehow I doubt he'll be there. But there's no time to think about that now, because I have to get to the town square as soon as possible. The other me is probably waiting on me right now, and I don't want to let myself down yet again.


	13. Restore

The city is buzzing with heat both external and internal. The external heat tires me out as I run away from the Capulet household and toward the town square, but the internal heat that blazes within every young person is the source of the worry that keeps me running at a fast pace.

One thing is very clear to me: the event will not repeat. Whatever it takes to stop Mercutio from dying again, I'll do it. And if the other me is anything like this me—which I know for a fact that he is—we both share this mindset.

That's why it catches me off guard at first when I don't see him in the spot we agreed to meet. Where is he? I scan the cluster of muttering people that have gathered about where Tybalt is pacing up and down the staircase.

I glance at the sky; the sun sits only a bit lower than it was the last time I checked, but the clock on the building at the top of the stairs reveals it to be almost three-thirty, and I can't tell whether Mercutio is late or Tybalt is just early.

I wait around, hiding myself among other people, until it's nearly four o'clock. At that point, I can't wait any longer—and apparently, neither can Tybalt.

"Where is he?!" he growls, taking out his sword and swinging it at the building at the top of the steps. I don't know exactly what the building's function is, but as far as I know, nobody ever really goes inside of it. Tybalt's sword hits a space between two bricks and gets stuck in the gap for a moment, and a few people down below laugh. They stop laughing when he pulls out a knife from his back pocket and throws it down the stairs. The knife lands at somebody's feet and they shriek.

Just then, a coarse laugh echoes through the square. I jerk my head up to see the source, and am momentarily relieved to see Mercutio, with the other me standing beside him. Then I realize that he doesn't appear to have any weapons on him. How's Mercutio supposed to have his rematch with Tybalt if he doesn't have anything to fight with?

From the glint in his eye as he stalks down the stairs, leaving his sword stuck in the wall behind him, I can tell that Tybalt has noticed Mercutio's lack of weapons as well. "So you choose this moment to make your presence known," he snarls, and stops to pick up the knife he threw and tuck it back into his pocket before continuing. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were hiding nearby this whole time, just waiting for me to make a fool of myself."

"Oh? Why would you say that?" Mercutio says coyly, fluttering his eyelashes—and my heart flutters along with them, because I'm still so foolishly in love. The gesture seems to irritate Tybalt even more than the words themselves. "After all, it's not as if it's personal between us, is it? You just like to fight everybody."

"I don't try to fight everyone," Tybalt protests. "I hate the Montagues, true, but—"

"Well, why are you fighting me, then?" Mercutio cuts him off. "I'm not related to the people you hate. Although I suppose I would be through marriage if I ever got together with…"

He shoots a glance at the other me, who blinks, not getting it. I don't get it either at first, but when I do my head spins for a solid ten seconds or so, and I lose track of what Mercutio is saying until he claps his hands twice, very loudly, grabbing the attention of any who weren't listening before. "So!" he concludes, directing his voice at everybody now rather than just Tybalt, "I have decided to undergo this fateful rematch using only the weapons that nature has bestowed upon me! We shall have a fistfight, or else we won't fight at all."

Murmurs spring up from the crowd—loud, unhappy murmurs. "I thought I was going to see a swordfight," somebody grumbles. "This is stupid; I'm leaving." Many others seem to share their sentiment. Before long, most of the crowded town square is empty.

The other me takes a few steps back. I didn't notice at first, but now I realize that he has a sword, and he's clutching the handle with white knuckles. I wonder if he can see me, so I nod to him, trying to catch his eye. But my past self is focused entirely on Mercutio and Tybalt—and this me becomes so as well when they move in closer—close enough to strike each other.

"I don't know what your intentions are," Tybalt mutters. "But whatever it is, it won't work. You may not be a Montague, but you've sided yourself with them." Mercutio grins mockingly back, and shrugs at the accusation. "Just look at your little friend there," Tybalt continues, pointing to the other me. "You two certainly are close, aren't you? I'm sure you wouldn't want anything to happen to h—"

At that, Tybalt is cut off with a slap. Mercutio pauses for a moment, his teasing smile replaced with a deadly glare, before turning his hand and slapping him again. Outraged, Tybalt charges at Mercutio, who catches his arms in his hands and pushes them back. At this, Tybalt kicks Mercutio in the shins and he lets out a yelp of pain, letting go and hopping backward, clutching at his legs.

"What's wrong?" Tybalt taunts. "Are you afraid I'll hurt your precious little Benvolio?"

Although he's still clutching his shin, Mercutio glares up at Tybalt. "If you ever hurt him, or Romeo for that matter, I'll never forgive you," he says flatly, but there's a quivering edge to his voice that makes me want to rush up to him and hold him. "You know the reason I challenged you to a rematch. It's the same reason you challenged me to a duel in the first place. There needs to be a winner between us so we can finally put an end to this stupid thing we've got going on."

"You're really one to talk about stupidity, aren't you?"

"No more so than you."

I spare another glance at the other me. He hasn't moved since the last time I looked; the sword handle is clutched ever tighter by his trembling hand. The gaps that opened up in the crowd begin to fill in again as people start coming back to watch the spectacle.

Tybalt kicks at Mercutio's ankle and he trips, tumbling to the ground. Then, as if he wasn't the very reason he had fallen over, he leans down and cups Mercutio's chin in his hands. "It really is a pity what choices you have made," Tybalt murmurs. "If only I could have been as lucky as your Montague friends. Then perhaps instead of fighting, we could still be doing this."

And then, right before an attentive crowd, right in the middle of the town square, Tybalt grabs Mercutio's arms so he can't move away, leans in, and kisses him.

My heart shatters as soon as I see the act. The rational part of me knows that I already knew about this beforehand, and that Mercutio looks just as shocked—and not in a good way—as the rest of the people gathered here. But the frailest, most vulnerable part of me sees the boy I love being kissed by someone else and knows only that that means he must not love me, even though it really doesn't mean that at all.

Gasps sound throughout the square, echoing and fading as one unanimous sound. Only one gasp sounds any different from the rest, and it's the softest of them all—and it comes from the other me. With a pang of guilt, I remember that he didn't know what I know about Mercutio and Tybalt. The way I found out somehow makes this feel a lot better, because even though they used to love each other, I knew right from the start that they no longer harboured such feelings. But for the other me… this is how he's finding out: by seeing them kiss.

The kiss continues, but once the shock wears off Mercutio begins to struggle against it, trying to break away. Tybalt clutches his head in one hand and holds it in place, moving his legs to the sides to box him in. In a jerky motion, they stand up, and Mercutio finally pushes Tybalt away, spitting and wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"What was that supposed to be?!" he demands. Tybalt hesitates and Mercutio glowers at him, continuing: "no, seriously, what was it? I don't get it. Was it an apology? Are you saying you want me back all of a sudden? What was it?"

"It got your attention, didn't it?" Tybalt sneers. "That's all I hoped to accomplish, you filthy degenerate. Don't get your hopes up."

Most of the people who gathered around to watch the fight are looking on in what I can only describe as horror. But I can tell they're not horrified because Tybalt kept kissing Mercutio even though he clearly didn't want it. No; they're simply horrified that such an act would occur between two males in the first place.

I find myself taking a few steps forward, drawn in by the rage twisting in my gut and the love that makes it twist even harder. I want to—no, I want the other me to go up there and grab Mercutio's hand right now. I want them to stand there, together, defiantly. But the other me is still hanging back, although his hand has dropped away from his sword and is simply dangling at his side.

Maybe this version of me could go up there and grab Mercutio's hand, but it wouldn't be the same, because this version of me can't have him. I could have, if only that potion had worked. But it didn't, and now the only thing I care about is keeping the boy that both versions of me love safe.

Mercutio must sense the crowd's disgust, because he suddenly spins around on his heel, grinning away and not looking anywhere near Tybalt. "Hah! It was merely a trick," he exclaims, throwing his hands into the air flippantly. "We really had you guys going there, didn't we?"

"What are you doing?" Tybalt hisses. "Don't pretend that it wasn't real. It was!"

"Ah, it looks like my acting partner here is still playing his part," Mercutio says, chuckling in a blatantly forced manner. "I guess that's why they call them _part_ -ners, eh?" He pauses; nobody in the crowd laughs. "Gee, tough crowd."

A frustrated growl rises from Tybalt's throat. "If you wish for this deception to continue, fight me," he commands. "It is what we came here to do, after all."

"Oh, believe me, there's nothing I'd like better."

In one quick, fluid motion, Mercutio whips around, punches Tybalt in the face, and sticks his foot out to trip him up so he falls backward. All disgust forgotten, the crowd cheers, and I can't help but smile myself—more so when I hear the other me let out an enthusiastic squeal. The only one who isn't pleased at all with this development is Tybalt. He sits on the ground, stunned, for a few seconds while Mercutio stares, looking equally stunned, at his hand, as though shocked he was able to land such a punch.

Slowly and shakily, Tybalt rises to his feet. He's met with jeers and taunts from the crowd, and even from where I'm standing several feet away I can clearly see him tense up as he realizes the crowd isn't on his side.

"What's the matter, _dearest_?" Mercutio coos mockingly, hatred dripping from his voice on the final word. "Do you only love to fight when the crowd is in your favour?"

Tybalt doesn't respond. A couple strands of his dark hair have fallen in front of his face, shrouding his eyes. He takes a couple of steps toward Mercutio, until they're less than an arm's length apart, slowly reaching behind his back as he does so. I don't understand why at first, but then I remember.

The knife.

There's no time to shout a warning, and I know if I do Tybalt will only make his motions quicker. The only thing I can think of to do is what I'm already doing without even thinking at all. My feet push off against the ground, sending up clouds of dirt as I push past the other bystanders. I don't even register the protests I assume they must be making. My eyes are trained on Mercutio—the boy I saved once, and I can't believe he's making me save him again, but here we are…

And here I am, pushing through the crowd as Tybalt grabs the knife from behind his back and raises it into the air…

I see a sudden terrified realization flash in Mercutio's eyes. A few people around me shriek, but I don't pick out my own voice among them. He's silent, and though I don't have nearly enough time to spare a glance behind me, I'm sure he's realized what's happening already. He probably figured it out about five or six seconds before I did, which is kind of a shame, but it wouldn't have mattered either way. I'd save Mercutio a thousand times over if that's what it took to keep him safe.

Tybalt prepares to bring down the knife, not noticing me running up to him. Mercutio notices me, though. His eyes go wide, and he mouths my name. I give him a reassuring smile just before I push off the ground, extending my arms and shoving him away.

…And here I am, my fingers giving one final, weak push to make sure Mercutio is as far out of the knife's way as possible. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second and when he opens them he's screaming, with the beginnings of tears forming at the corners of his eyes. I don't understand why, because I pushed him away. He's safe now. It's not until a second after Mercutio lands safely on the ground a metre or so away from me that I realize something's wrong—that I feel pain shooting through me.

My feet are off the ground; I'm completely in the air. But my own falling to the ground is… delayed. Just for a second, and then I do fall, but in the span of a split-second everything sharpens into focus around me and I realize that a knife just slid out of my back.


	14. Redone

I land on the ground, stunned, and roll over a couple times. I wind up lying on my back, staring up at Tybalt, who's staring down at me with a thousand emotions flashing across his face in rapid succession. He's clutching a bloody knife. A few drops of my own blood drip off the end and fall on me, as though it were trying to get back inside of me.

Mercutio scrambles over to me. "Ben… Benny… Benvolio, why did you do that?!" he stammers. "Y-you didn't have to! I'm not worth it!"

I stare up at him and wonder why he looks so distraught. And he's crying… not that I was able to tell by looking at him, though, because my vision is getting a bit blurry. But I feel his tears land on my cheeks as he bends over me, cradling me in his arms.

At first I'm flattered. But then I manage to concentrate on what he's saying as he holds me— "Benny, no… this can't be happening. I can't lose you!"—and then I understand. He doesn't realize who I am. He thinks I'm _his_ Benvolio, who's still just fine; who's still standing there in the crowd, able to have so many things that this version of me couldn't.

"Mm…" Speaking is difficult, but looking into Mercutio's dazzling eyes gives me the strength to get the necessary words out. "Merc, stop crying. I'm not—" I break off as a coughing fit takes over my body, making it jerk around wildly out of my control. Blood comes out when I cough, and it finally fully sinks in that I've just been stabbed.

"Stop crying?! How can I stop crying?" Mercutio pushes a few stray strands of hair out of my eyes and it helps me to see the way his beautiful face is contorted. "Th-that's like asking a bird to stop flying, or a fish to stop swimming, or…" He pushes the corners of his face into a weak smile that I can tell is for me rather than for him, as most of his jokes seem to be. "…Or it's like asking your cousin Romeo to stop chasing after girls. It just can't be done."

The sincerity of his words makes me want to start crying too—or maybe it's just the pain in my gut. But I try to sit up straight, although the pain that follows makes me black out for a second and I fall back. Mercutio catches me in his arms and props me upright so I can speak. It's such a simple gesture, but it brings a faint warmth to my cheeks even as more blood spills out of my back.

"Your me isn't this me," I tell him, but he doesn't seem to understand. "I'm the other one," I explain. "The one from the other future… I'm the one who lost you."

"Lost… me…?" A slow realization dawns in Mercutio's eyes. "It's _you_! You saved me?!"

"It looks like our roles have been reversed this time," I mutter. As soon as the words leave my mouth, another coughing fit overtakes my body. But this time, it doesn't stop. My vision is tinged entirely with red, and all my other senses only seem to be half-working. I can't control my spasming limbs, and more blood is coming out through both my skin and my mouth.

For a second, the spasming stops, and I regain control of my body. But I know it won't last. I can feel myself draining away. I search the crowd, which has gathered around more closely to watch me, for the other me. I find him hanging back, frozen in place, and I can't help but feel sorry for him. I may have had to watch the boy I love die in my timeline, but at least I never had to watch _myself_ die. Still, I don't want him to be standing back there. So, with the energy I've got left, I make eye contact with the other me and beckon him over.

He doesn't move. He doesn't want to. I see it in his eyes—my own eyes, but these ones are focused while mine are having trouble focusing. We make eye contact; he gulps and slowly walks over to me.

Mercutio takes his arms away from me and stands, running up to embrace the other me before he can even make it all the way over. They stand in each other's arms for a moment, this version of me momentarily forgotten.

"I would have lost you again," the other me sniffles, burying his face in Mercutio's shirt. "Were it not for my future self, I'd have lost you twice now."

"Oh, Benvolio, I'm so sorry," Mercutio murmurs. "I never meant to put you through so much. I… I never thought I meant that much to you. But seeing that other version of you—what could have happened to you—I never want to put myself in danger again."

The other me whispers something I can't quite make out. They pull apart for a moment, and then lean in closer to each other…

Suddenly, the world around me shimmers, and I get a splitting headache. "What's happening to him?!" the other me gasps. "He's… disappearing!"

I don't understand what he means at first. Then I lift my hand up to my face and find that doing so doesn't hurt as much as it should. But that's not the strangest thing; it's far from it, in fact. When I take a closer look at my hand, I see that the edges of my fingertips are dissolving, as if they're being eaten away at by some invisible swarm of insects.

I open my mouth to voice my own bewilderment when the world shimmers again, and suddenly everything looks just a bit different. The town square is empty. The pool of blood I'm lying in is no longer there. I wonder for a moment if I'm already dead until the world changes again and I remember.

_The potion!_ Maybe it did work after all, and it just had a delayed reaction! I struggle to hold on to the image of the other me in Mercutio's arms; try to think of what it is he said, but my surroundings have changed again. Now I don't seem to be anywhere. I'm just floating somewhere between time and space, only able to hope I'll like where I end up.

I close my eyes, praying I'm right about the potion. That hope becomes my last fading thought as the vast expanse of nothingness envelops me.

*

Against all odds, I wake up.

Or maybe it's not really me that's waking up. Maybe it's some other version of me, and the version I remember being is dead. That or he never even existed. Or maybe we're all one and the same. Whichever one of these is true, one fact remains: Benvolio Montague wakes up, five years after a tragedy that never occurred.

The mattress feels so soft beneath my back that it takes me a moment to realize I'm no longer floating. Instead, I'm lying on my back, staring up at a high, curved ceiling. A chandelier dangles from the ceiling, its crystals catching and reflecting the bright golden rays of sunshine that creep in through the open window.

A breeze blows in through that same window, making me shiver. It's only then that I realize there are no blankets covering me. I roll over to see a wad of blankets, in about the shape of a curled-up figure huddled up under them. A head of dirty-blond hair emerges from one end of the blanket pile, and Mercutio rolls over to face me.

"Oh, good, you're finally awake," he mumbles sleepily. "I've gotta say, Ben, you had me worried for a while there."

"What…?"

"Well, you're always up a couple hours before me, right?" Mercutio says, sounding a bit embarrassed. "So, um, I've kind of gotten used to hearing the sounds of you doing stuff in the morning. But this morning I didn't hear any sounds and it kind of threw me off."

I rub some sleep out of my eyes and look around the room. It doesn't take a long look for me to be certain this is not the Montague household. Besides the chandelier, the ceiling is higher, the bed is a lot nicer—it even has a canopy—and on the opposite wall there's a beautiful and ornate bookshelf that goes halfway up the wall.

"Um, Merc, this might sound like kind of a stupid question, but…" I pause, hoping Mercutio won't laugh at me for asking. "Where are we?"

Mercutio blinks; he clearly wasn't expecting that question. Then he chuckles, leans over, and kisses me on the forehead. I definitely wasn't expecting that—especially not with how casually he did it! I turn away so he doesn't see me blushing.

"Why, my good Benvolio, don't you recognize our own bedchamber?" he murmurs. "If not, you must have had more to drink last night than I thought."

I sit up, propping myself up against the lacy canopy. "Last night…?" I echo, rubbing my temples. "What happened last night?"

"Okay, now that's just rude," Mercutio says, pretending to sound angry but obviously just more amused than anything else. "It was very nice of your cousin and his wife to come visit us. You can't expect the Montague-Capulets to come rushing up from Mantua every other day to see how we're doing, especially not with the kids and all. Seriously," he adds, giving me a concerned look, "just how much did you have to drink?"

Now it's my turn to give Mercutio a stunned look. There are so many things in his sentence that my brain wants to understand, but can't quite wrap itself around, that I finally settle on the one part of it that I can almost understand.

"Romeo came to visit us?"

"Mm-hmm." Now Mercutio's amusement has vanished, and he's staring intently at me, looking worried and confused but also like he's just starting to understand. "Ben, you… don't remember anything, do you?"

I shake my head. "I don't remember any of the things you said," I admit, "Or a lot of what must have come before that, either. The last thing I remember is…"

I trail off. What _is_ the last thing I remember? When I close my eyes, I can swear I remember myself dying, but that can't be right. In fact, now that I think about it, I am starting to remember all the things that happened—all the things that I experienced—wait, why would I have ever forgotten any of these things? I've been living happily with Mercutio ever since we confessed our love for each other five years ago, on the day that the future version of me…

Wait… am I the future version of me? Or am I the one from the past? Or am I both?

"I don't know," I groan out loud, clutching my head.

"Ah, that's right… it's been five years to the day, hasn't it?" Mercutio sighs. "Friar Laurence said something like this might happen when I told him about the way that version of you from the bad future disappeared. But it's been so long, and so many things have happened, that I forgot all about it."

He steps out of bed and walks over to the window, beckoning me to join him. I do, standing beside him and looking out at the fair city of Verona. It looks just like it did the last time I saw it from this window, and the last time, and the last… every morning since I moved in with Mercutio two and a half years ago. But even with all those days behind me, I still feel a bit caught off guard every time I look toward the town square and see no golden statue, although I can't be certain if I ever saw one there at all.

"It's been five years," I whisper, choking back the burning tears that spring up in my eyes. I don't even know why they're there. I have no reason to cry. "And we've been together all that time."

"Well, not _all_ that time," Mercutio corrects me. "We've gotta have some time to ourselves, you know? Like when you go off to teach the schoolboys. I don't tag along with you then, because, well, can you imagine me as a teacher? I'm nowhere near as smart as you. Then again, I must have done something right in order to have such an amazing man in my life."

I smile, giving Mercutio a gentle nudge with my elbow. He grins, nudging me back a bit harder. Then he leans down and kisses me on the nose. It makes me flustered even though it has to be the thousandth time he's done it. Not wanting to be outdone, I stand up on my tiptoes and kiss him back—but I can't quite reach his nose, so the mouth makes an even better substitute. He wraps his arms around me, lifting me up off the ground and twirling me around. When he puts me back down, the tears that had sprung up in my eyes are rolling down my cheeks, and I still don't even know why.

"You're alive," I whisper, although of course he is—why wouldn't he be? "They're all alive."

"Well, that depends who 'they' are," Mercutio jokes. "If 'they' are, say, anybody else's chance at being loved by me as much as you, then you'd be wrong."

"You know what I meant, you handsome idiot," I murmur. Another breeze ruffles the curtains, and I close the window so the room doesn't get too cold. "…I love you," I add, suddenly feeling as if it's vital to say even though we've told each other this countless times before. "I really, really love you, and I'm glad I still have you."

I'm positive that Mercutio will tease me for being so emotional. But instead, he simply puts his hand in mine and smiles at me.

"I love you, too, Benvolio," he tells me. "And you will always have me."

He's right, of course. I always have, and I always will. I take another look around the room—our room. Memories of a world where he isn't here rest in the back of my mind, clouding it with doubt until the look in his shining eyes dispels it. The dreadful world I could have lived in doesn't exist anymore, and it never will again. That future has been redone along with the single day that made it all possible.

_Maybe_ , I think to myself as we head downstairs into the kitchen to make breakfast, _I did live in that other future once._ But it seems so far away and impossible now that I can't believe it ever really existed. Maybe it was all just a bad dream, and now, five years later, I've finally woken up.

**END.**


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